


Where You Run

by ImperialMint



Category: One Piece
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Canonical Character Death, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 20:12:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2241897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImperialMint/pseuds/ImperialMint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ace never set off to sea in search of colour, but it finds him anyway on board Whitebeard's ship. Ace struggles with the darkness inside of himself and his confusion, while Marco struggles with the eventuality that, one day, his world will darken, and they both learn the meaning of acceptance and rebirth together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Colour [Ace]

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a tumblr post by apharthurkirklands and denmarkswag and also amazing art by flaggermousse on colour soulmates AU. Everything is colourless until you meet your soulmate and when your soulmate dies, your world returns to colourless.
> 
> Title is from Laura Marling's Pray for me. And I promise that, while this follows canon completely, it will have a happy ending. And by happy I mean both of them will be alive and together and no sadness in the final chapter.
> 
> I had to do a Marco/Ace version because they’re perfect for it. I would like to thank lunarshores for betaing this for me too, I always need help when I write in this tense. Thank you so much!

The darkness is a simple fact of life, but Ace hates it. He hates the greys and the blacks that push against his chest, crushing him, reminding him that he’s dirty and hated. There are pale greys in this world, but they turn away from Ace, the darker colours swarming him.

He wants to know what the colour green is. Ace wants to know how complex the sea is and what exactly the waves do as they smash down onto the shore. He wants to know if his blood is red like normal people’s or if the demon blood in his veins runs black, tainted like his soul.

Luffy comes into his life, and Ace hates him. He hates the boy who seems to adore him and ignores him, scorns him, even when the names of colours spill from Luffy’s lips. Ace questions him later, when Luffy’s one of them, at their side as their little brother, and Luffy admits he’s been able to see colours for a long time. So long, he says, that he’s forgotten how dark the world can be.

Ace and Sabo have no idea how Luffy came to see colours. No one should see colours, and they joke that Luffy’s soul mate is the old woman who sometimes gives them little sweets when they sneak into her bakery. It isn’t her – of course – but they have no idea who it could be and neither does Luffy. He’s unconcerned with his ability, but Ace and Sabo waste no time in asking him about colours.

“Blue is… blue…” Luffy mumbles to their questions, entirely useless at describing. “I don’t know. It’s blue!” He shakes his head and runs off to try and catch a handful of birds. He’ll only play with them before letting them go, maybe snatch a few feathers from them and bring them back to point out colours to Sabo and Ace.

That night, though, Luffy lies between him and Sabo in their home, voice muffled by the onset of sleep.

“All of our blood is the same,” Luffy mumbles, wiggling his fingers as he makes sure he’s holding both Ace and Sabo.

The tightness in Ace’s chest lifts a little, and he moves closer to Luffy, despite the heat under the blankets. He ignores Sabo’s soft smile by burrowing under the covers, closing his eyes and allowing himself to smile.

But while he knows the colours, knows the sky is blue, grass is green and the sea is something between the two, Ace doesn’t understand them. What is blue? What is green? It is all grey to him, a colour he hates almost as much as his father.

When Sabo dies, they stop naming colours of things. Luffy’s lips seal, and Ace doesn’t try to pry an answer from him. Ace stops trying to map this island, so he’ll know where he grew up when he finds his soulmate. They grow up and while the world may not have colour, the darkness keeps at bay when Luffy’s at his side.

When his time comes to set sail on the mass of grey that is the sea, Luffy speaks of colours. He tells him his hat matches Dadan’s hair and the beads around his neck are the colour of blood – of their blood. He tells Ace that the sea is brighter, happy to accept another child onto its waves, and Ace sets off with high hopes.

His crew are good. Some can see colours, some can’t, but that doesn’t matter to Ace. They have moments of confusion where one cannot describe something properly, but they pull out of it quickly and it isn’t long before they begin securing devil fruits, one in particular that Ace eats himself.

He knows from Luffy that fire is yellow and orange, but he also knows it can be white and it can be blue. Ace wonders what his fire is, whether it has the tiny blue in it at all, and spends nights watching his fire keep the darkness at bay, the entire world lighting up at his fingertips.

The World Government nips at Ace’s heels as he gains power. They want him for their own, but Ace will never sell himself to the Shichibukai. He laughs at the offer with his crew, tearing the pale paper in two and throwing into the dark sea. Let the sea kings take it.

When Ace announces he wants to embark on a nearby island, his crew look at him in worry. The Yonko Akagami is there, they whisper, wondering exactly what Ace’s plan is. He explains and they steer their ship to the cold island. Ace goes alone, stomping through the snow to be met with hostile men.

They do take him to Akagami, and Ace feels his beads against his collarbone. They’re the same colour as Shanks’ hair, the colour of the blood that runs through his and Luffy’s veins. He has to be an audacious man, to name himself with a colour, though Ace knew that anyway. He’s here to thank this man, and he does, from the bottom of his heart.

They drink, and they feast and then they drink some more. Ace doesn’t think he’s ever laughed as hard as he does that night, and he thinks that such a massive crew is nice. Perhaps one day he’ll amount enough people to have what Shanks has, or perhaps not. Ace doesn’t have a set goal, other than to surpass his father.

Ace decides he needs to take Whitebeard’s head. His father never could, so Ace will. His crew follow him, though Ace isn’t sure they know his true intention. That doesn’t matter though, and he ends up meeting Jinbe on his search.

Desperation floods Ace as he fights Jinbe. The darkness pushes in, and he refuses to give up. Jinbe is strong, though, and it takes them five days to succumb to human needs, both collapsing to the floor in exhausted messes. Ace doesn’t expect for Whitebeard to show when he does, and he uses all of his remaining strength to get his nakama to safety. He’ll deal with the giant of a man before him.

Of course, Ace isn’t enough for Whitebeard, and he wakes up in a room that clearly isn’t on his own ship. He has no idea what has become of his ship – or his nakama – and worry grips Ace’s stomach, the darkness threatening to close in on him and drag him down.

Stumbling out of the room that holds him, Ace wanders through the maze of what can only be the Moby Dick. He meets no one and eventually finds a door, leading to the back of the ship. Ace can see the sea and knows that land is far behind. His ship and his former life are gone, torn away as easily as he tore up the Government’s summons.

“He’s here!” a voice calls, and it’s a familiar voice. One of his nakama runs over to him, taking Ace gently by his arm. They’re wearing a bandana printed with Whitebeard’s mark and Ace keeps quiet as he’s lead to the captain.

His blood itches under his skin. It calls for Whitebeard’s head, for his position of power to be toppled and for his world to succumb to darkness forevermore.

“You are one of my sons,” Whitebeard says, and Ace lashes out. Hands pull him back, and Ace turns in a full circle, glaring at the tens of people gathered.

Something peculiar happens when Ace returns his gaze to Whitebeard. His moustache lightens, and Ace can hardly believe it. The greys from his world fade, and Ace wants to cry right there and then.

“No,” he whispers, every ounce of strength in his body refusing to let his knees buckle. “No.”

“Oh?” Whitebeard says, his coat – in colours Ace doesn’t even know the name of, but they aren’t grey, never were grey – swaying as he leans forward. Let him think the no was for his offer. Ace is no son of his; he needs no father.

Ace doesn’t wait for Whitebeard to continue, and no one stops him. Ace knows he has to stay on this ship to protect his nakama, and he’ll do just that. He’ll take Whitebeard’s head too and end this era. Ace will be greater than Roger ever was.

Ace tries to find where he’d woken up, but settles instead to wander through the ship. Anyone he meets he glares at, and they pass quickly. He is distracted, though, and Ace finds himself marvelling at the wooden panels of the ship. He’d never thought they’d be this odd, dark colour. It’s far from grey, and Ace remembers Luffy telling him about wood.

The colour is brown. It’s the colour of mud and of dirt, of wood and the essence of nature. Shit is also mostly brown, Luffy had informed him many times, and Ace fights to catch his breath for a moment. Colour is amazing and he scrabbles for the red at his neck, tears filling up his eyes as he sets eyes on his necklace.

The colour red is bright and bold. It is striking and everything Ace could possibly love. His heart lurches in his chest as he thinks of the same colour running through his body, and Ace lets himself lean against the wall, relief coursing through his body.

“Do you need help getting back to your room?” a voice asks and Ace reacts, instinct letting flames flare from his skin. The man who had spoken is a placid-looking man, with bright hair and light eyes. 

He looks utterly bored with Ace and the fire.

The flames between them are different to what Ace has imagined. He frowns at them, unsure exactly what is off with his fire. He gets his answer almost instantly as the man pulls his arm away, flames dying down against his skin, delicate and definitely different from Ace’s.

A colour that is warm in the same way as red, but lighter flows through Ace’s fire. It is accompanied by what has to be yellow, and Ace wants to watch his fire for the rest of the night. It is comforting, exhilarating even more than it had been when it was monotonous, but there is the problem of the man with the strange flames.

“I don’t need your help,” Ace hisses. He wants to explore the world that has just opened up to him. He doesn’t want to think of Whitebeard or what it really means to be on this stupid ship. Just for a few hours, Ace wants to run through everything Luffy has ever told him about colours, and he wants to be free of the darkness.

“You don’t have a choice,” the man says, and that’s how it’s to be then. Ace lets him lead, and he shuts the door in the man’s face, eyes raking through his room eagerly. He is searching for colours, the ones he might be able to guess and the ones he doesn’t know.

The man outside enters, and Ace spins on his heel. He is furious, but the man waves his anger off with a cascade of dark flames. Nothing seems to faze him, and Ace wonders who this stranger is.

“You’ll find some books in the cabinet over there,” the man says, pointing lazily to a small cabinet, next to the wardrobe. Ace will never fill that wardrobe. He’ll have Whitebeard’s head before then.

“Kitchens are open all day for whatever meal you want. Well, within reason.” The man raises an eyebrow as Ace turns away from him. He has none of his personal belongings, and he hates to think of what became of his ship.

“The books will be of interest to you. If you need anything, just ask for Marco.” The man nods, leaving Ace alone at last, and Ace wonders how he has managed to overlook the man’s identity.

Marco the Phoenix, the first division commander. A man who has the power of regeneration and whose flames burnt with the colour of the skies. Blue, then, was Marco’s flame. The colour of freedom, the opposite to Ace’s orange and yellow, a colour that Ace will love as much as he loves red.

There isn’t much in the room other than brown and white, so Ace turns to the cabinet, hoping that there will be books with pictures. There is only one book, a small, thick thing that has dog-eared pages and looks as though it is about to fall apart. Ace squints as he reads the title, carrying the book to his bed carefully and opening it eagerly.

It is a colour book. Ace has heard of them, but never seen the point in them – until now. They have hundreds of colours (or so it seems to Ace), page after page. Ace reads the book hungrily, filling in the greys of his memory with excitement. He knows what colour violets are and what colour a fox is. He knows now that bread is similar to the inside of a tree and that green comes in so many shades.  
He skips meals, something Ace has never done unless he had fallen on hard times. He finishes the book once and then starts again straight away, eager to learn all of the colours before he ventures from his room tomorrow.

Ace hasn’t put much thought to it and likely won’t, but his ability to see the colours isn’t a random event. Somewhere on this ship is his soulmate. They will have awoken in the same way, and Ace knows he has to behave as if he’s always seen colours if he wants to avoid being trapped here forever. If he can bluff his way through well enough, Ace will be able to convince the member of Whitebeard’s crew that there’s someone else – that it can’t be Ace.

Ace doesn’t want a soulmate. He doesn’t want a lover; he doesn’t need a lover. He’ll never have a child, never allow for his demon soul to consume another, and doesn’t long for pleasures, not when his core is tainted with so much sin. His needs can be served by his hand; Ace has no need for any companionship whatsoever.

It takes a few days, but Ace settles into a routine. He’ll train in a small room overlooking the sea until sweat pours off of him. He hates having to use the Whitebeard Pirates’ facilities, but they’re stupid enough to let him train so he has to. Killing Whitebeard is proving to be a challenge, and Ace needs to stay in peak condition.

He checks on his nakama every now and then, making sure they’re not threatened. They all notice the change in Ace, but none of them can comment on what it is. He offers no explanation, and they go their separate ways. Ace fetches food and takes it back to his room when he can, though he often goes hungry. He’ll not accept charity, and he will fight for everything on this ship.

Whitebeard is an immovable mountain. He doesn’t die, no matter what Ace tries, and he toys with Ace as if he is a child. He laughs openly, lovingly, and is always affectionate when he deals with Ace, more patient than anyone Ace has ever known.

And despite his conviction, despite the darkness snapping at his heels and the world closing in around him, Ace enjoys Whitebeard’s kindness. If he can afford to, staying and becoming one of his sons would be nice, but Ace can’t afford to. He is a demon child, someone who shouldn’t exist. He has to prove them all wrong.

There is another, though. Ace notices Marco a lot more, always out of the corner of his eye. Marco never looks away, never acts ashamed – for he isn’t. He’s there to stop Ace if the time comes for it, and Ace knows Marco will not hesitate.

Of course, when an ultimatum is delivered, it is Marco who deals it. He stands on the deep brown deck beside Ace, placing a cream coloured bowl on the floor. Soup is inside, orange carrots peeking through the broth. Ace’s stomach cries out for the food, but he buries his head in his arms instead. He knows Marco is right, and he knows he has to make a choice, but how can he?

If Ace stays, he has to accept a father. If Ace stays, he has to reveal his past. If Ace stays, he has to be around his soulmate.

The choice comes to him, and Ace slips through the celebrations in a daze. He is happier than he ever has been, happier than when he’d spent time with Shanks even. Everyone is so warm, and it feels as though Ace’s eyes have been opened once again – though this time to love and friendship, not to colours.

“Ace!” a voice calls, and Ace looks at Thatch, taking the offered tankard of rum from him happily. He doesn’t need the rum, but it’ll be good for his chest. Or something.

“We’re trying to guess when Marco started seeing colours,” Thatch says, looping an arm around Ace’s shoulders. Some of his drink spills onto Ace’s shoulder, but he doesn’t care. He leans into Thatch, trusting someone he wouldn’t have hesitated to attack not too long ago.

“Why him?” Ace can’t help but ask. He knows Marco is old, so old he might as well be ageless. No one knows exactly how old, but they all know that Marco has always been at Whitebeard’s side, before any of them.

“He’s the only one we haven’t been able to figure out,” Thatch answers easily. “Aside from you. When were you able to see?”

Ace’s eyes widen, and he slips free of Thatch’s arm.

“Oh, a while now,” he hurries out. “A few months before I met you.”

It is a lie, but Thatch accepts it, and they join the small circle. Everyone is directing questions to Marco, who looks as though he would like nothing more than to be thrown overboard, phoenix powers and all.

“None of you will ever guess it,” he says, eyes narrowing as he sets them on Ace, rooting him in place. “So give up and leave me alone.”

That just seems to spurn everyone on even more, and Ace watches as the questions become more intricate, unravelling a web of Marco’s life aboard the Moby Dick. Marco is clever though, and he slips through openings and tight crevices, dodging questions in a way that shows experience. They’ll never get an answer from Marco.

Ace settles into life, but there is still the darkness that threatens him. It whispers to him at night, when colours are muted, and Ace fears he’ll slip into greys once more. He isn’t truthful, is far from righteous, and he is a demon’s son.

Whitebeard watches him carefully as Ace goes to him. He is gentle and waits until Ace has said his piece, tilting his head back in amusement. With simple words, he soothes Ace’s sores and washes the darkness away. It isn’t enough to purify him (nothing could be), but there isn’t an ocean lapping against Ace anymore.

His life changes once again as Ace finds himself heading the second division. Marco is the one who take him under his wing, directing him on what to do. That side of things is boring, but Ace does get to observe Marco, and he finds himself wondering.

Ace doesn’t hold stock in the soulmates thing, but life this way means everyone is curious. Everyone wants to know who and when, and Ace is no exception. He finds himself wanting to know what kind of person opened Marco’s eyes and where they are now.

Can Marco even see colour? Ace has assumed that someone who has lived as long and vast as Marco has can see colour, but how can he be sure? There are people who Marco might never meet, or his partner may have died long ago without them meeting.

And if he can see colour, where is his soulmate? Not everyone’s soulmate is a good person. People lie, people cheat, and people hurt. It is rare, but Ace has heard tales of someone running from a soulmate to protect themselves.

Love isn’t simple.

He still wants to know Marco’s story. He wants to know if his world is grey or if he can see the blue fire licking at his skin when he uses his powers. Ace wants to know if Marco can see the glimmer of life in the red of their blood, and he wants to know what no one else knows.

It’s late one night, and Marco’s checking his paperwork. The second division are in charge of the weaponry supplies, and so Ace’s paperwork has to be flawless or they could find themselves in a sticky situation. Marco has corrected a few errors, and they’re sharing a bottle of sake between them. Marco’s saying something about tomorrow’s breakfast, but Ace isn’t thinking of food.

“Can you see colour?” he says, staring Marco in the eye. Marco places the papers he’s been checking down on the table, eyes locked calmly with Ace’s.

“Everyone’s so obsessed with finding out when you started to see colour, but I wonder if you can at all.” It’s a challenge he hopes Marco won’t just brush off. He wants to know what kind of person Marco is, wants to know things about him even his other nakama don’t.

Ace isn’t entirely sure why.

Marco doesn’t back down from the challenge. He turns in his chair so that he can face Ace properly and relaxes. He looks comfortable, very comfortable, and there’s a warm feeling in Ace’s heart that niggles at him. He has all of Marco’s attention, and he wants to keep it.

“I can,” Marco says, offering no more. His voice is steady, betraying nothing, and Ace knows that his lone question will not settle his curiosity.

“You must have seen a lot in your life then,” Ace says, thinking to himself how he can find out more. He’s never been too concerned with learning about peoples’ soulmates until now. It’s just Marco. Only Marco.

“I have been without colour for most of my life,” Marco says conversationally, a slight upturn to his lips. He’s interested, perhaps as curious as Ace is. “I never thought it was a problem, and I was happy without colour.”

Ace doesn’t understand that, and he frowns. How could anyone make peace with the haunting greys and the encroaching darkness. Ace never wants to return to that life.

“Perhaps you don’t understand,” Marco says softly, leaning forwards. His elbow rests on the table, and he pours himself another drink, downing it swiftly. It’s not how he’s supposed to drink, and Ace wonders if he’ll like what he’ll hear.

“My devil fruit guarantees life. There are circumstances, of course, but if I plod along in a threat-free life, I have no idea when I’ll die. I’ve lived a long, long time as I am now, and I doubt I am going to live forever, but… I will most definitely outlive everyone on this ship, probably tenfold.” His words are uncomfortable, for Ace cannot imagine living for so long with his damned soul, yet he knows it’s what’s to come that is the killer.

“A life with colour means that I have met the person I am to love,” Marco says. “And I know my world will fade to grey once again. I know I will have to watch the person I love die.”

Ace is silent. He wants to reach out and take Marco’s hand, but how can he? Marco has met his fate, even if he’s running from it. His world will turn grey once more, but this time it will be tainted. Marco will know the colour of everything, but be blind to it. He may find another – as some do – and his world may burst into vibrancy once again, but knowing his world will fade yet again… Ace wouldn’t be surprised if Marco did everything in his power to avoid it entirely.

He understands now why Marco doesn’t talk about soulmates with the others.

“It’s why I never came up to you,” Marco says, sitting back in his chair and looking down at his hands. He shoots a glance to Ace, smiling tightly, before he ducks his head. All Ace sees is his yellow – blond, he corrects himself – hair and confusion returns.

“Came up to me?” Ace asks. Why would Marco come to him?

“I know you lied to Thatch. I know you’ve been lying to everyone.” Ace’s skin suddenly feels clammy. He’s too hot and he isn’t sure he wants to hear Marco’s next words. “Because I know you suddenly began to see colour when you first challenged Oyaji, and I know that because I went through exactly the same thing in exactly the same moment.”

Ace is finding it hard to breathe. He inhales slowly, fists clenched tightly, and is glad Marco is looking away from him. He had expected Marco’s soulmate to be someone on an island far from here. He’d expected his own soulmate to be someone of little consequence and someone he could avoid.

He’s wrong, so wrong, on both accounts.

“I don’t want a soulmate,” Ace says instinctively. His teeth are clenched and he’s fighting to keep his fire down. Marco would survive it, but the paperwork is too fragile.

“Nor do I,” Marco says. Ace meets his eye and the fire drops right out of him. Marco isn’t lying; he doesn’t want a soulmate. It should make Ace sigh in relief, make him grin and wave this whole affair off, but it doesn’t.

Ace knows he’s going to be the one who will leave Marco in darkness. One day, he’ll destroy Marco’s world entirely and leave him at the mercy of the grey world. Marco will be alone, darkness tearing at him, and there is nothing Ace can do to stop his own mortality.

And despite how much he may say otherwise, Ace does want a soulmate, deep, deep down. He wants someone he can trust beyond all others, someone who will accept him and love him. He wants someone who he can watch the sun set with, someone who he can discuss whether fish crap or not with, and someone who he can share the beauty of the world’s splendour with.

 

How can he really, though, when he has a rotten core inside of himself? Ace cannot expose anyone else to this core, especially not Marco. Ace doesn’t deserve anyone’s love, and he has to bury his secret desires deep down. People like Ace don’t deserve soulmates and people to share the beauty of the world with.

“We can continue as normal,” Marco says, voice firm. Ace wants to reach out and tell him otherwise, stop himself making this decision, but he doesn’t. He nods his head instead and pastes on a fake smile.

Normalcy isn’t something that comes easily, however. Now that Ace knows who his partner is, it’s all that plagues his mind. He wonders what food Marco can’t resist sneaking bites of and what position he finds most comfortable to sleep in. He wonders what Marco’s deepest fears are, and what he wants to accomplish. Ace wants to know everything, but he knows he has no right.

So they continue on as best they can. They work together a lot, and Ace listens in when the rest of the crew try to find out when Marco could see colour. He watches and waits, though Ace isn’t sure what he’s waiting for exactly. 

He discovers one night. The crew have dispersed largely for missions, and there is a quiet gathering on deck. It isn’t a party, but there is alcohol, music and gentle conversation. Thatch is away on a mission, and so Marco is left without an interrogation, sitting by Ace’s side as they play a game of cards with a few others.

It is nice, and it is comfortable. The kitchen staff call out suddenly and a handful decide they want the late night snacks on offer. Their card game ends, and Ace shrugs his shoulders. He has a terrible hand and is growing bored anyway; he will probably head to sleep soon.

“Goodnight, Oyaji,” Ace says, walking up to Whitebeard. Marco’s left to collect the cards, and Ace is about to head inside when he catches the look in Whitebeard’s eyes. He waits patiently; there is something Whitebeard wants to discuss with him.

“You have no need to deprive yourself,” Whitebeard says quietly. “Neither of you need to deny yourselves.” He stares down at Ace, making Ace feel so small.

“I understand if there is a proper reason, but if you believe you do not deserve you bond then you’re mistaken, my son.” Whitebeard smiles, gulping at his sake and looking to a group who have brought snacks out. “You two are both lonely.”

Even if Ace had the strength to, he can’t deny it. He is lonely, deep in his soul, and he has no idea whether Marco can help the feeling fade. He’s been too scared before now to try, and Ace is about to head to his bed when he sees Marco.

Marco is framed in the moonlight, looking down at the cards as he places them in the box. He is concentrated so much on the cards that he isn’t even aware of Ace’s gaze. He wears a small frown on his brow, and Ace smiles.

Ace waits by the door to the inner cabins, waiting for Marco to notice him. The cards slide into the box, and he pockets them, looking up with a bored expression, his face shifting in surprise when he meets Ace’s eye. It is mere moments before he is by Ace’s side.

“What do you really think of soulmates?” Ace asks, his hand sliding against the door. He can feel the handle, and he lets his fingers curl around the metal. He can escape this if he wants to, but he wants to hear Marco’s answer first.

“That is a big question,” Marco says, his hand joining Ace’s on the door handle. They are far apart enough that no one will look over and think they were up to something, but the hand covering Ace’s shifts over his skin gently, smoothing sensuously.

“I’m going to ruin you,” Ace warns, but he feels that it is too late already. It was too late the moment he saw Whitebeard’s coat bleed into colour. It was too late the moment he met Jinbe.

“It would be an honour,” Marco replies, entirely serious. His hand has stopped, fingers curled against Ace’s wrist. “But being soulmates isn’t an obligation.”

It wasn’t. They have come this far, and Marco is letting Ace know that if he needs to, they can end whatever they’re about to embark on. They have reasons why they might not work, but Ace doesn’t want to think of them right now. He wants to think of Marco and only of Marco.

“I can’t lie to myself,” Ace mumbles, “I want to give it a chance.”

Marco’s hand slips from his, pushing down the door handle and dragging Ace inside. He pauses by the wall, looking over his shoulder. They both know what will happen, and excitement spikes in Ace’s belly. He’s never been with anyone before and knowing Marco is his soulmate makes Ace’s knees week. Marco is all his.

Even without Whitebeard’s prompting, Ace has known Marco wants their relationship. He will have the pain when Ace dies anyway, but they are alive now. Marco has always watched him, always cared for him, and it all was separate from their bond. Marco did that because he cares for Ace; if he’d wanted something more then he would have revealed himself earlier.

They move towards Marco’s rooms. They’re closer than Ace’s and far more homely. Ace has barely anything, except the colour book and his clothes, and whenever they’re in private, they always go to Marco’s rooms.

This time is different. They wait until Marco has the door locked, and they stand still for a moment. Ace waits, tilting his head to the side slightly as Marco steps before him, lips lowering to his exposed neck. He grazes Ace’s skin gently with his teeth, flesh quivering as Ace’s hairs stand on end. He is open and raw in this state, and he reaches out to touch Marco.

Sliding a hand across Marco’s chest, Ace wastes no time in sliding his shirt off. His hands run over strong, muscular shoulders as Marco presses his lips harder to his neck, trailing upwards and over Ace’s jaw.

His kiss is like seeing colour for the first time. Ace’s heart soars as Marco pulls him closer, deepening their kiss. Red blooms behind Ace’s eyes and deepens, maroon shooting into his stomach, warming him. He can feel yellow seeping through his pores from Marco, comforting and exhilarating. There is also blue, though it is a small speck, calming his worries. Ace cannot feel the darkness and he pulls Marco back, shuffling to the bed.

They’re both shirtless and Marco’s skin is hot against his. There are scars and Ace’s fingers tremble as they touch them. Each could have cast Marco from this world and each could have condemned Ace to darkness for his entire life.

He has a lot to thank Marco for.

They kiss and they break, like waves coasting the shoreline, and Ace can feel heat growing inside of him. It’s unlike his powers. It pushes down inside of him, begging for more and more, and Ace bites his lip as Marco’s tongue traces his navel, hands working at the buckle of his belt already.

“If it’s too much-“ Marco begins, but Ace knows nothing will be enough. He can feel blinding light inside of himself, a muted yellow that needs to burst from him.

“It’s okay,” Ace says, reaching for Marco’s hand and taking it. He links their fingers, curling over the back of Marco’s knuckles. “I want this. I want you.”

Something seems to break inside of Marco and his face softens. He moves forward and kisses Ace, free hand finally unbuckling Ace’s belt. Warmth returns and Ace’s heart beats furiously. His stomach dips as orange flushes his system, Marco slipping his trousers off and palming him through his underwear.

Ace is lying on the bed and he pushes himself up, fascinated by watching Marco. His usually placid demeanour is completely shattered as he turns his attention to Ace’s dick. He treats it as he treats everything; with utmost care and consideration, and Ace want to laugh at the expression on his face, light blue bubbling around them.

“You don’t need to think so hard,” Ace says, voice light and joking. His colours dip as Marco touches him again, underwear down and cast aside in a moment. Ace twitches and he can feel the heat of Marco’s fingertips, purple dancing between them, tempting and teasing.

Marco looks at him from between his thighs and Ace’s throat tightens. His mouth is dry and his colours tighten, too bright and too contrasting in his anticipation. Their vibrancy deepens as Marco runs his hand over the head of his cock, almost lazily.

Colour spirals as Marco takes his cock whole in his mouth, down into his throat. He moves up a few times, but always sinks back down. One of Ace’s hands finds its way to his forehead, and he is shuddering as golden spikes shoot through him, matching Marco’s movement.

When he pulls back with wet lips, Ace moves instantly, though he already fees boneless. He wants more, wants Marco always, and he wants him to feel the warmth in his chest, the light that is pushing everything else away. He kisses Marco sloppily, heart skipping as Marco pushes him down, legs on either side of his hips. He is astride Ace, and Ace can feel his erection, clothes tight against him. Ace wants to feel him and he pulls his foot up, awkwardly manoeuvring until his knee is in perfect place.

Satisfaction curls in Ace’s stomach, rich purple entwining with blood red, when Marco rubs against him. His eyes are closed, forearms propping him up, and Ace watches with a heated gaze as Marco continues to rub against him, breath sharpening.

He reaches a hand up to run around Marco’s head. His longer, trademark hair is already sweaty, and Ace pushes it back, fingertips rushing over the tiny hairs Marco keeps trimmed short. He groans, and Ace lets his hand slip lower, delighting in every muscle, every dimple and every grove of Marco’s body, until he reaches between them.

The space between them is hot. Ace’s cock twitches in anticipation as Marco rids himself of his remaining clothing, and excitement bubbles in Ace. He was content alone before, but Ace knows that’ll never be enough for him again.

They press tightly together, and Marco kisses him lazily, thoroughly. Ace pants, smile wide as he tilts his hips up and peers through the peach tint of his world. Marco is looking down on him, hair slicked so that it is in his eyes, and Ace thinks he’s never looked more handsome than the sweaty, free way he looks now.

“Roll onto your side,” Marco says, kissing Ace’s cheek gently. He returns for another kiss, then another, and Ace bats him away, frowning at the loss of Marco when he does back off. His warmth fades, but it returns just as quickly, covering his back as Marco wraps himself around Ace.

“We’re not going all the way,” he whispers, gentle blue floating through Ace. He is calm and steady, using a knee to open Ace’s legs and slip himself between them. His hand grazes Ace’s hips, stroking his belly until he comes across Ace’s cock again. Gold spikes once more, and Ace lets his head slip back, resting in the small crook of Marco’s neck, between the bed and the side of his head.

Ace shivers, clenching his thighs a little when Marco moves his hand. He hears a gasp and grins, though the smile shakes off of his lips when Marco strokes his thumb over the head of his dick. Precome slips alongside Marco’s fingers, coating Ace’s dick. Marco moves his hips in time with thrusting between Ace’s thighs, and they can’t last forever.

The gold light warms and Ace tries to catch Marco’s wrist before he comes. His body jerks, light surrounding them in Ace’s mind, and he can’t stop the moan that leaks from him. Marco tightens behind him, and Ace turns his head, hand coming to reach behind Marco’s head and pull him close to kiss.

His skin jumps a little when Marco comes, shooting ribbons of come onto his pelvis and belly. Marco rests his head on Ace’s shoulder, and Ace smiles, gently turning, letting Marco go for a moment before he buries himself against him once more. His head tucks against Marco’s chest, and he smiles as Marco wraps his arms around him tightly, kissing his forehead gently.

Ace doesn’t know how long they lie like that, but they do, every night for weeks. The moon changes and the seasons begin to brighten. Duties see that they keep busy, but they return to each other when they can. No one says anything, and the questions on Marco’s colour abilities still pour in.

It makes Ace wonder, and he asks Marco about it one night, skin hot and the gold around them fading as sleep creeps in.

“They don’t know about us,” is what Marco says. “It’s not uncommon for people to share rooms, and everyone was waiting for you to leave that room, pretty much.”

It is a small, bare room, Ace thinks. Still, has it not crossed anyone’s mind? Marco’s answer leaves him cold, and there is a cloying dark green that collects at the edge of Ace’s mind. It isn’t his darkness, but…

“We can tell them if you want to,” Marco says, pushing up onto one elbow. His finger tucks into his hair, and he looks at Ace with fondness, a look that only makes Ace want to pull him close and kiss him.

Does he want to tell everyone though? Not particularly. It’s not that Ace is a private person – Oyaji knows anyway – but if other people know then there’s a certain end in that. If other people know, they’ll be happy for them, and Ace can’t accept that.

He sits up, head bowing and hands in his lap. What is he doing, really?

“Ace?” Marco says gently, mirroring him and sitting up.

How can Ace have done this to Marco? How can he have done it to someone who loves him so wholly?

“Inside,” Ace begins, a hand coming to curl over his heart, “inside of me there is only darkness.”

Marco remains silent, and Ace draws a shaky breath. The green has vanished from his mind, darkness back. It’s what he hates about the nights, their ability to draw colour from the world.

“I carry a demon’s legacy inside of me,” Ace says, drawing his knees up. The covers fall away from him, and he is bared, soul and body, to Marco. He rests his head on his knees and fight not to tremble, thinking of the terrible burden he is placing on this entire crew.

Marco knows whose son he is. He’d told him when he’d told Whitebeard, trusting Marco and needing acceptance from more than one person. Marco had shrugged it off and smiled, wrapping an arm around Ace and leading him to the kitchen. That had been that.

But it isn’t enough for Ace anymore, not when he can feel himself loving Marco with every inch of goodness inside of himself. He doesn’t want his darkness to taint Marco, and so they need to stop this. Ace needs to leave him, or it’ll be worse for both of them later on.

Marco can’t stop the darkness forever.

“When you’re with Oyaji, what do you feel?” Marco asks. Ace frowns at the question, but thinks hard.

“I feel peaceful,” he says eventually, and one of his legs slips down. Ace lets the other fall, and he lies back, staring at the grey ceiling. “He calms me.”

There is a pause, and Marco remains silent. The words are there, but it takes time for Ace to accept them, for him to say them.

“I feel loved,” he admits eventually, and the bed sinks when Marco lays back too, hands on his stomach. He doesn’t look at Ace, and Ace is thankful.

“You make me feel loved too,” he offers. Ace guesses that Marco wants to ask, but he doesn’t want to wait. Ace feels as if he can talk now, and so he will.

“Aside from the obvious, I see everything when I’m with you.” Ace isn’t sure his words are being used well here, but he has to try. “When I’m with you, I can forget the darkness inside of me. You make me feel like I’m someone, that I deserve to be loved.”

Ace feels Marco twitch, wanting to reach out. They stay as they are, though, and Ace bites the inside of his cheek. He’ll never display his unsureness before other people, but here the darkness has become his friend. It cloaks him for now, and he can accept it.

“You make me accept myself,” Ace says quietly, covering his eyes with a hand as the words slip free. He laughs, a harsh echo through the room, and shakes his head. Ace can feel the tears welling up, and he doesn’t understand why, doesn’t get why Marco can just stay there, doesn’t understand why Marco hasn’t run to the other end of the ship by now.

“You’re allowed to be unsure,” Marco says. His voice calms Ace a little and he takes a steadying breath, hand still covering his eyes. “You’re allowed to hate yourself and have days where you want to throw yourself into the sea.”

Ace shook his head. That wasn’t what he wanted.

“I don’t want that,” he said quietly and let his hand fall from his eyes. “I want to live, more than anything.”

Marco is smiling when Ace looks at him.

“You’re still allowed to be unsure,” Marco says. He turns onto his side so he can face Ace, one hand in the space between them. A hand isn’t enough, though, and Ace shifts until he is pressed against Marco, arms wrapped around each other. 

“Life isn’t easy and neither will our relationship be, but I’m willing to be there for you, no matter what.” Marco kissed his forehead. “If you want to stop this, I’ll still be there. If you want to tell everyone in the world, I’ll be there. Whatever you decide, I’ll be there if you’ll be there for me too.”

Ace squeezed his eyes shut tightly at Marco’s words, muted yellow flowing through his body. He felt as though he wanted to cry, though he didn’t, and searched for Marco’s eyes, smiling a little shakily as he met his gaze.

“I’ll always be there for you,” he says, kissing Marco gently. Marco is everything; he’s the one who has Ace’s heart entirely.

Despite the darkness and despite Ace’s doubts, he knows Marco will be there. Ace knows there will be days when he wants to pack up and run away, to let the darkness consume him, but there will always be the spike of gold and blue, wrapped together in his chest tightly. Marco will never leave him, and, no matter how hard it gets, Ace plans never to leave Marco.

They are soulmates, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: brief mention of mention of child abuse, character death (as per canon), fingering
> 
> Thank you, again, to lunarshores for betaing!

The earliest memory Marco can recall isn’t a particularly nice one. He’s around 6 or 7 years old, has the bitter taste of a devil’s fruit in his mouth, and a man is standing over him, shouting. There are women around him (not his mother, never his mother – she died long before he can remember, and he’s been raised by her colleagues), one naked with wide eyes. She tries to coax the man away, but all the man wants to do is beat Marco, shouting obscenities at him.

All Marco thinks is that he was hungry, and there had been a piece of fruit in a box. He wouldn’t have eaten it if he’d have known it would cause this much fuss. He takes the beatings; they don’t hurt too much after all. He takes the scolding from the brothel owner and listens as she goes on and on, stating that they only kept him due to his mother’s dying wish. He’s gone too far now, she says, and Marco sleeps on the streets that night, small bag by his side.

Marco doesn’t feel the cold. He watches from an alley as snow falls on the ground, but he doesn’t feel it. It’s been this way for the weeks he’s been on the streets, but the cold doesn’t bother him. He can feel it, but it doesn’t freeze him in the way it freezes other people. He’s seen six corpses this season alone and knows he’s been lucky until now. He was luckier still to have had a roof over his head.

The world eventually shifts, and Marco watches the whites of snow darken as they melt into muddied slush. He’s never minded the lack of colour in his life and wonders why some of the women at the brothel made such a big deal of it, clinging to the owner with tears streaking down their cheeks. Marco likes the muted world. It’s peaceful and gentle.

While he doesn’t die of street diseases or the cold, Marco does get hungry. He’s hardly experienced gourmet food before, but raiding through rubbish bins isn’t a hobby he wants to continue. This is survival, though, and his fingers dig through dark, discarded waste until he finds food.

Some days he has to fight, so he does. Marco wins, but he loses more often. His ribs jut out, and he gives up on the alleys, heading to the port. It’s more vicious down there, but Marco can slip through and survive. He’s small, and he wants to live.

The port works for Marco. He watches the sea when he’s not looking for food and finds the grey waves calming. He wants to swim in them, though he knows that the powers he consumed cursed him. He’ll never swim and, at this rate, he’ll never know what power he has. He’s thought about it a little, but he cannot change form, and he cannot summon some kind of power. Maybe he ate a useless fruit, or maybe he just needs to wait. Marco knows all about waiting, and so he’ll do that.

There is also another draw down at the docks. Plenty of people pass by, and so artists unload there. They draw people, the sea, more people, and always the sea. Marco creeps up on them and watches, fingers itching to draw himself.

It’s down here that Marco learns to truly love the ocean. He loves the salty, welcoming air, and he loves the ever changing grey of the waves. The water comforts him, and Marco knows his fate.

There is a man Marco has always wanted to meet. He has a useless description (hair colour, eye colour, the positions he fucked his mother in, and his strange habit of growling when he came, courtesy of the women at the brothel) of his father, and Marco wants to find him. The sea is vast, people have said, but Marco doesn’t care. He wants a father, and he’ll find one, even if it takes him forever.

The sea reassures him. It comforts him that his goal isn’t fruitless. The wind sways through his hair, and Marco knows he’s loved by the ocean. His birth mother was unable to love him, but the sea is the only woman he’ll ever need. She’ll protect him and carry him to where he needs to be.

One cannot just set sail, however. If he wants to set sail, Marco has to be older, wiser, and richer. Time can sort out the first, and the second if he continues reading and listening as he always has, but he third he needs to sort himself out.

The artists at the port humour him. Marco takes what he can and learns, matching greys of the world to the greys of his pencils and pallets. They are kind to him, and Marco shares what food he finds. They tell him he draws well and, one day, a passing merchant considers one of his drawings, tilting his head and rubbing his chin with a finger and thumb.

“You look like you got a good technical eye,” he says. Marco pauses, not understanding.

“Maps,” the man says, leaning down. His breath smells, but his eyes gleam with possibility, and Marco is all ears. He learnt how to deal with unsavoury stenches years ago.

The merchant trades Marco a book on maps for a portrait of his lover. The man wants a small, locket-sized portrait and needs to unload a few books, while Marco will get something new to read - it works for both of them. He leaves with the promise to put in a word with a friend and then is gone. The cartography book in Marco’s hand is small, but it weighs a world, and Marco knows his life is going to change drastically from this point.

The other artists help him with the finer details, but it doesn’t take Marco long to read through the book umpteen times. He loves it, cherishes it, and begins planning his own map of the island. It’s a shaky start, and Marco knows that his map is nowhere near accurate, but it’s his first and he shows it to the artists with a proud smile. They ruffle his hair and present him with fine paper and ink, gifts they have scraped and bartered for.

It’s the first true kindness Marco experiences, but even that has to end. Winter on this island is harsh, and the artists move on. The port ices up, and trade moves to another part of the island, leaving Marco alone with the sea. The ice covers it in white, and Marco wishes to chip down through the ice, to expose the ocean and her beauty.

All in good time, she whispers to him, when the moon is blindingly white in the sky and the world is dark. Marco waits. His book stays against his chest, even when he has stuffed each page with a folded map he drew. He loves his works, takes pride in them, even though they are worthless to the rest of the world.

The sea’s words are the truth and, as the seasons turn, Marco is confronted by a woman. She looks down at him, hand on a cane and eyes narrowed, before she snaps at him, telling him to pick up everything he owns and follow her.

Marco obeys, of course. This woman will take no nonsense, and he feels no malice from her.

She takes him to a run-down house at the edge of the port. It is probably as warm and dry in there as Marco’s street homes, but he enters it anyway. The woman leads him to a kitchen, and he almost gasps at the warmth from the huge oven. There are other people milling around, all under ten, and Marco shuffles nervously.

“We heard of you from the merchant,” the woman says, pulling a chair out from the table. She pushes Marco into it, and he places his bag in his lap. She takes a seat next to him, snapping her fingers. In an instant, paper and ink is placed on the table, a quill in her hand.

“He says you can draw maps,” the woman continues. “Technical drawings too. Draw this room.”

Marco’s eyes widen, and he looks around the room. The woman pushes the paper to him, and he sees that it has grids on already. She brought him here to test his skills, but why?

He draws the room, plots it out from above. He’s handed a few other tools when he asks, and it takes him over an hour to draw it fully. He wanted to be careful, and now he has a perfect replica of the room on paper. Well, the scaling is likely off, but leaving the table wasn’t an option. It’s the best he’s ever done, and Marco marvels at the difference good ink, a good quill and a good table makes.

The woman informs him she runs the household. Her name is Matron and that’s what they’re to call her. No exceptions. He gets food twice daily if he’s well behaved, and he’ll be able to draw if he does his chores. The master of the house is an investor in people, and Marco is one of these people. He’ll be provided with books if he does well, and he’ll learn more than he ever could on the streets.

“Why?” Marco asks. No one would ever be that kind.

“You do what the Master says, and that’s that. If he wants you to go pick pocketing down the docks, you do it. If he wants you to sell your drawings, you do that. If he wants you just to stay here and improve for the future, you do that.” Matron stamps her cane on the ground. “You’ll be in the kitchens to start off with. Get started!”

The children in the room scuttle away and Marco stands. Matron takes his bag, tells him where it’ll be and leaves.

Marco doesn’t see an adult for six weeks. He hears Matron enough, but they all learn to stay out of her way unless called. She doesn’t like them, and they don’t like her, but they can all tolerate each other. Marco wonders about the master, but no one has a proper answer about that either.

Some say there is no master, and Matron just wants them to work. Some say the master will come for them one day and kill them all,, and some say he’s a rich noble who is bored. Whatever the story, Marco doesn’t really care. This is a stepping stone and he can see the sea from his window, reminding him that his work at the house is only temporary.

Marco is just past 10 years when his eyes open to the world beyond his island properly. Matron is long gone, the master cutting off his investment, and their coffers running dry months back. Some of the children have stayed and some have gone. Marco has stayed and sold what books he could. The rest of the money he’s earned by selling shoddy maps. They are simple and clear, drawn on a stack of fine paper Marco had found at the house.

(As it turns out the master had been a smuggler and kept various safehouses across various islands. His luck had run out, but Marco’s hadn’t, and he uses the paper that was likely destined to a far more noble house.)

Marco’s about to close up his little stall for the day when he hears a commotion at the other end of the port. People begin passing him quickly and soon there is a large crowd gathered. Marco grins and finishes packing away his belongings, slinging his bag onto his back and jogging over. He is small enough to push through the crowd and join the other children closer to the centre of the circle.

There is a tall man standing with his arms crossed over his chest. His hair is long and light, shirt hanging open and smile wide on his face. He has the grace of a man who can shatter worlds, and Marco watches with wide eyes, wondering why the petty gang around the man are still bothering. He’ll smash them like flies, easily.

And he does. The gang goes down easily, so easily that the man looks bored. He sighs and looks around the crowd apologising for the fuss in a deep, bored voice. He isn’t young, but he carries youth in him, like the eternal sea. Marco can see her love draped on his shoulders, and he lingers when people start to turn away, watching the man curiously.

Strangely, the world tilts. Marco frowns, shaking his head, but it does nothing to dislodge the odd sight he is seeing. His world is still grey so he knows that he hasn’t found his soulmate, but some of the greys have changed. There is another colour in his world, and he looks to the strange man accusingly, meeting his wide eyes.

This man isn’t his soulmate, but he means something important to Marco. He walks over, the lingering figures around them blurring away, and he seems so huge and colossal. Marco wants to run away, down to the beach where the sea can lick at his feet, but he doesn’t. He faces this man and tilts his chin, unafraid to meet his gaze.

“You’re a sweet kid,” the man says, ruffling his hair. Marco feels his chest tighten, remembering the artists who looked after him and even the women who snuck him treats and cuddles. “Where are your parents?”

Marco shrugs, pushing the man’s hand away.

“Dunno,” he mumbles. It’s been a while since he spoke and his voice is a little quiet. He clears his throat and shrugs. “Don’t care.”

His words seem to amuse the man, for he crouches down to Marco’s level.

“Do you fancy getting something to eat then? I’m waiting for my ship to be fixed, but it’ll be a while, and I’m starving.” The man pats his stomach, and Marco finds himself unable to hold back the rumble his gives. He flushes, taking a step back to escape, but the man simply hoists him over his shoulder and laughs. Loudly. Marco thinks every bone in his body shakes with his laugh.

“My name’s Edward Newgate,” he says, marching them down the port. Marco doesn’t bother to struggle. He’ll probably get a free meal out of this, and the man smells of the sea. He cannot be all that bad.

Edward Newgate turns out to be a pirate. He’s here to fix a hole in his ship and currently sails alone. Marco listens as he talks about the sea and what it’s like to sail. He tells Marco so many stories that Marco wonders if he needs to sail anymore with the amount of knowledge he gains. He does need to, of course; Edward Newgate’s stories only make him more certain he needs to set sail.

It’s a surprise when the offer comes. Marco is watching the sea. He’s amazed by the change he can see, and he wants to know what the world in full colour is like. He’s watching the waves from the beach when Edward Newgate makes him an offer.

“You can see the colour green,” he says simply. Marco looks at him, turning back to the sea. His eyes open as wide as they can, and he tries not to blink, taking in the green of the waves. “Do you know what that means?”

“We’re not soulmates,” Marco says sharply. Edward’s been kind, and he hopes he hasn’t misjudged him and ended up with a pervert.

“Of course not,” Edward says, laughing. “I’m thirty years older than you, brat. You’ll never be on my level.”

Marco kicks the sand up and sends it in Edward’s direction. They kick sand up at each other for ages, splashing in the sea, though Marco tries not to linger too long, exhaustion nipping at him. They fall back, and Marco laughs into the darkness of the evening, happier than he can ever remember being.

“You’re a good kid,” Edward says, and they fall into silence. Marco tracks the stars, wondering how much of the world he has yet to see.

“Take me with you,” he says, not caring if he’s begging. He wants to leave; there’s never been anything on this island for him. He wants to wake to the sea and wants to live by the sea. He wants to learn from Edward and wants to be free.

“You can see the colour green because we’re nakama,” Edward says fondly. “My soulmates are my family, and you were a part of my family from the moment I saw you.”

Something shifts in Marco’s chest, and he lets out a sob. He can’t stop the tears and he sits up, hands covering his face. He’s embarrassed and grabs Edward’s shirt when he moves closer. He knows he’s smeared tears and snot all over Edward, but Marco doesn’t care. He has nakama, he’s going to sea, and he has never been happier. The world he has dreamt of for so long will now be his to see, and he has Edward to thank.

He’d wanted a father years ago. Now, Marco thinks he might have found one.

They set sail and days pass. Marco tends to the ship lovingly and, when Edward discovers his maps, he draws on deck when he can. He isn’t too good at reading the weather to start with, but Edward is a patient teacher, and, soon, Marco can tell when the weather changes - though he’s best at predicting winds. Remarkably good, actually.

Thoughts of his devil’s fruit power don’t cross Marco’s mind until they hit their first island. Marco is happy to see shore, and he wanders around town by Edward’s side. They enter a bookshop at Marco’s request, and his eye catches a strange book, one that lists devil fruit powers.

They take it, and Marco spends the night pouring over it. He doesn’t tell Edward exactly why he wants it, but eventually he has to; he cannot find the fruit he ate.

“Not every fruit is in there,” Edward says. He’s pulling fishnets up from the side of his boat, muscles straining as Marco peels potatoes for their dinner on a chair behind him.

“It should be,” Marco says, disappointed. Edward is no help. “How did you know what fruit yours was?”

Edward turns to look at him from over his shoulder. 

“I knew what it was when I ate it,” he says simply, and Marco throws a potato in his bucket, annoyed.

“I can’t swim, and I don’t even know what I gave that up for,” Marco says, dropping his knife and wiping his hands on his trousers. “You’re no help at all.”

As Marco begins thinking of where he can look for answers on the next island, the boat rocks violently, something smacking against the side. Edward stumbles, and Marco knows what’s going to happen. He can see a fin of the sea king that is tangled in their net and can tell Edward hasn’t seen it properly yet. He’s trying to haul the net up and away from the threat, and the boat rocks again, this time sending Marco sprawling on deck.

On the ground, Marco watches as the sea king pulls away, the net going with it. Edward isn’t able to let go in time, and Marco watches him fall slowly. If he hits the waves, that’s it, they’re done for, and Marco will watch him die. He can’t let that happen.

Marco doesn’t know what his powers are, but he pushes himself up off of the deck and runs. Something in his head tells him that he can do this and so he does, launching himself over the side of the boat after Edward.

His gamble pays off. Marco feels electricity flow through his body, and he jerks uncomfortably, skin itching as it morphs. He doesnt have time to think and watch exactly what he’s morphing into, but he knows he has wings and talons. That is enough to save Edward, and he snatches him up from the dull green waves, muscles straining as he fights to get them both back on the boat.

Somehow, Marco manages it. His back aches, though the pain is quick to fade, and he flops onto the deck, wide eyed as he looks over the parts of his body he can see.

It’s… surprising. He’s clearly a bird, but instead of feathers, his body is made of a bright coloured, fire-like substance. He wonders what colour it is, for he knows it’s very different than real fire. He tests moving a wing and is surprised how naturally his new form comes to him. He manages to stand, wings tucked neatly as he turns his head to look at Edward. Non-rotating eyes will be a little challenging to get used to.

Edward takes one look at him and starts laughing. He slams a hand onto the deck, and the boat shakes, his power leaking out whether he means it to or not.

“It figures you’d have one of the rarest powers in the world,” Edward says from where he’s sitting. He wears a huge smile on his face, and Marco looks away, embarrassed. 

“It’s a mythical zoan,” Edward explains, reaching out to touch Marco. His flames reach out, wrapping gently around Edwards finger. “Phoenix form.”

Marco knows what a phoenix is, of course. Everyone knows about them and their powers of regeneration, and suddenly the reason why he’d survived all those harsh winter nights, and his injuries had healed quickly makes sense.

Transforming is remarkably easy, and Marco flings himself at Edward, hugging him close. He is grinning widely, and Edward makes them a huge feast for dinner.

Days pass, and Marco begins to master what it is to be a phoenix. He listens to his Oyaji’s laughter as he rides the wind currents, relating news of nearby ships and the local weather with ease.  
The world is brighter as he soars on the winds, and Marco feels excitement bubble in his stomach. One day he’ll see the entire world, colourful and vast.

The years pass and Edward Newgate earns a new title. Whitebeard matches the power of the Pirate King, and their crew has expanded over a hundredfold. Marco’s heart swells each and every time he sees their nakama, knowing they all share the same green-tinted world together. Some see more, of course, but they all share one colour, the colour of family and love.

Marco grows, and he forgets the details of his past. He doesn’t draw maps any longer, but his division are in charge of navigation and charting. He flies above, relaying news to his crew and often he will be sent out to survey the weather nearby when the navigation team detect an anomaly. 

Marco has danced through lightning strikes, weathered tough storms, and delighted in the sun’s warmth. He is freedom personified in his phoenix form, but his heart will forever be with his ship and his nakama.

The pirate king dies, and their era begins. It doesn’t take long for the Whitebeard pirates to establish themselves as the strongest - only Roger held them back from that title before. The ocean is in a frenzy, and then it calms, as much as a pirate’s life can.

Until Whitebeard decides to bring back an unusual one. Marco isn’t there when Ace is brought on board, and his first glimpse is when Ace confronts Whitebeard on deck. Ace turns away from them all, and Marco watches from the back, leaning against the railings. For the second time in his life, his eyes seem to shift, and his heart sinks.

Why did it have to be him?

Of course, Marco doesn’t approach Ace on the matter, but he lets him know there’s a colour book in his room and leaves. He goes about his duties as expected and is amazed when no one comments on his slightly shaking fingertips or his constant sharp inhales as he spots yet another colour. 

Well, one person does. Marco’s known Whitebeard long enough now that he doesn’t need to be told when he’s wanted, and he drifts to his Oyaji’s side. He stands there for a moment, nodding to Thatch as he passed with some barrels.

“Ace then,” Whitebeard says. Marco looks up at him, shrugging.

“You’d make each other happy,” Whitebeard continues, resting his head on the hand closest to Marco. Marco doesn’t look at him. If he does then he’ll spill all his secrets, and he can’t do that because Ace doesn’t want him. That is okay - Marco can live without his soulmate as long as he knows he’s happy.

“You can quit while you’re ahead,” Marco says, and ignores the laughter that booms around them.

“Carry on thinking that,” is Whitebeard’s reply, and he reaches out to ruffle Marco’s hair. Marco lets him, of course, and smiles.

Even when the truth about his father and a glimpse into the darkness Ace believes to haunt him, Marco doesn’t think anyone could be more pure. Ace is an innocent child, one of the sea, just like the rest of them. His father has nothing to do with who he is now, but Ace doesn’t see it that way.

Marco wants him to know he is loved, though. And so he tells Ace that he can see colours, and that he knows exactly when Ace began to see the world anew too. Marco watches Ace carefully, marvelling as his cheeks redden and then pale. He moves through a multitude of emotions, and Marco can see them so splendidly and openly. He wonders if anyone else can see Ace in this way or if he is simply that lucky.

They leave it at that, and Marco is content. He can feel a yearning inside of himself, but he curbs it, thinking only of practicality.

Marco is ageing, but he has slowed rapidly. He has gathered old accounts of his namesake and even found notes on a previous user of the fruit. The woman had lived for centuries, and Marco knows that there is something truthful in every account. He’ll die eventually, but it won’t be for a very long time.

It is incredibly likely that Marco will outlive every member of his nakama. He’ll be the last of his age, the only relic left from a time of heroes and monsters and he’ll be left in a world of grey. It’s not the colour that bothers him, he’s always found grey to be soothing, even now when he sees all colours, but it’s the meaning behind the loss. Ace will die one day, and Marco will be reminded that he’s doomed to live alone.

They all have their burdens to bear, though, and Marco’s isn’t so heavy. Ace is with them, opening himself up to happiness more and more with each passing day. They don’t push each other and respect the boundary they place between them. Marco doesn’t need a quick release, and he has all the love he needs from his family. He can live just as happily without the bond he shares with Ace.

Nothing is ever easy, and Marco guesses he should have known they wouldn’t be able to keep their bond platonic. Ace still has reservations - as does Marco - and they spend more than one night in silence, curled together with their legs sandwiched against each other.

On more than one occasion, Marco wonders what Ace would do if he tells him he loves him. It’s the truth - how can it not be - but Marco knows how to keep secrets.

Instead of saying it outright, he says it in the little touches they share when there together. He says it in the way he chooses Ace’s favourite foods when he collects meals. No one questions Marco or what he’s doing, they only look on in curiosity, scampering back to the kitchens if they see something on Ace’s plate they missed

Rotation changes and Marco finds himself with some free time as they near an island. Usually he’d stay overseeing his division, but they tell him to take Ace to the island and show him how a proper pirate does things here. It’s the first big, trading island they’ve come to since Ace had joined, and Marco agrees. Ace will likely never have seen a massive market like the one this island has, and so Marco will be his guide. 

Absent mindedly, Marco wonders if anyone suspects they use their room for more than sleeping. Probably not. Marco knows more people than he can count who share rooms and do nothing more. Some people think it’s impossible, but Marco knows placing two people together doesn’t force them into sexual intimacy.

Those who have the day off join Marco and Ace as they disembark the Moby Dick. The rest of the crew loiters around them lazily, some passing on requests for goods, and others there just to be loud and obnoxious. Thatch is such an example of the latter.

“Get me a gift!” he shouts down to Ace, who laughs, waving his request off.

“You’ll be lucky,” Ace says, and he turns to Marco, their world narrowing down to the two of them.

They move through the shopping markets first. Ace migrates towards red coloured objects, and Marco buys them a rosy apple each. They talk about nothing of importance, but every word that Ace says spirals inside of Marco, gathering in the pit of his stomach with a warm glow. It’s not dissimilar to the rush of his healing fire, and Marco ponders it as he watches Ace talk to a merchant. He is polite, and they seem to be discussing where the man gets his materials from, but Marco isn’t paying attention to what’s on the stall.

When Ace returns, he’s holding out two rings. They’re small, the metal coated in something strange so it looks a mixture of reds and purples, and Ace takes Marco’s hand.

“They’re for toes apparently,” Ace begins, leaning on Marco for support as he takes off his left boot. Marco cups the ring delicately, watching as Ace attempts to slide it onto his toes, ending up with the ring on his second toe in from the outside. He looks down at his work and nods, sock and shoe back on in no time.

“Your turn,” he demands Marco, and Marco had no option. The ring is beautiful. It reminds him of the ocean when the sun hits or when he is side by side with Ace in battle. It reminds him even more of their souls merging together, and he wants to grab Ace and kiss him right here in front of everyone.

Instead he slips the ring onto the toe that matches Ace’s and slips his sandal back on. It’s not a gaudy piece of jewellery, and it won’t attract attention, but Marco can feel the metal warm as it presses against his skin. He is linked to Ace in more than their colour bond.

“We don’t have to tell anyone,” Ace says, bumping shoulders with Marco. They have some food, and they decided this morning where they’d spend the night. Marco knows a comfortable hotel, and they are given a room instantly. “I just want something to prove you’re there.”

Ace avoids his gaze, and Marco opens their room door, looping an arm around Ace’s neck and pulling him in quickly. Ace shuffles awkwardly, but Marco doesn’t give him time to ask for an explanation. He falls back against the door, grinning and pulling Ace in for a kiss.

When he pulls away, Marco’s lips are wet, and he lets his forearms rest on Ace’s shoulders. Ace’s hands are at his waist, pressing their hips together. Marco cannot miss the slight grinding, and he tilts his head, raising an eyebrow.

“That eager?” he comments, loving the tinge of red that crosses Ace’s freckles. Even in his calmest mood, Ace will never be able to hide the secrets his skin betrays. Marco loves that, and he reaches a thumb to smooth Ace’s cheek, brushing dark freckles and sun-soaked skin.

“I love you,” Marco says softly. His words are met with a shy smile, and Ace pulls his hand away with shaky fingers. Marco lets Ace slip his thigh between his legs and wraps his arms around muscular shoulders, nose buried against the side of Ace’s head.

“I’m not good with words,” Ace says quietly. He shifts his hips, moves his thigh, and Marco grunts at the contact. He presses down, closing his eyes and clutching at Ace’s warm skin.

“I’m not good for anything really,” Ace continues, moving his leg and pressing his knee against Marco’s crotch. Marco is still by Ace’s head, and his tongue darts out, teeth catching Ace’s ear and sucking the sensitive skin.

“I love you though,” Ace finishes, breath shaky as Marco trails his tongue down the shell of his ear, nipping at the lobe before taking the flesh in his mouth. He rolls it around, and Ace smiles widely, his knee slackening.

The warm words that have gathered in his belly spring up, and Marco can’t help but let his body glow. The light is blue-tinted, and he ignores the laugh Ace gives as he pulls him to the bed. Their clothes hit the floor, and Marco falls back on the bed. Ace’s skin darkens as desire floods through him, a contrast to the glow of Marco’s. It’s not a noticeable shift, to anyone but them, and Marco thinks the colours they can spot on each other are a mental thing, their bond sharing colours between them.

Marco’s heart is light in his chest, and he lets his head fall back as Ace runs his hand over his chest. Fingers run over his nipples and he shudders, wanting more than what Ace is offering right now. Deep purple spikes at the bottom of his vision, and Marco arches his back, peering up at Ace and sucking in his lip.

He knows he looks a ridiculous sight, but he can also see the heat in Ace’s gaze. He feels, rather than sees, sparks of red and orange as Ace dips his head down for a kiss, pressing down hard. His tongue strokes against Marco’s lips, dipping in gently before curling up.

Marco’s never been one to sleep around, and Ace is the only person he’s fully had sex with, but he’d learnt a lot as a child. He’d been brought up in a whore house, if he hadn’t learnt anything from his past then Marco wouldn’t have made a commander. He observes, notices and remembers - and that includes seeing people have sex.

What he does with Ace is nothing like that though. They are equals, entirely, and when Marco reaches for Ace, Ace comes, smile wide and heart open. Marco can feel the love, and he moans as Ace wraps his hand around his cock, tongue flicking over the head.

Purple circles Marco’s vision as Ace takes him fully, pulling back to lap at his balls. He is enthusiastic, and it’s the genuine love for this Ace displays that tightens Marco’s stomach. Golden specks begin to work their way through his body and Marco stenches his elation, heel tapping the back of Ace’s back.

This time, however, Ace doesn’t pull back. He swallows thickly, and Marco lets out a surprised moan, laughing lightly a moment later. Ace is full of surprises, and he watches him grin awkwardly around his dick, brow furrowing as Ace picks up his pace.

Ace makes a noise of displeasure when Marco orgasms. Come covers the left side of his face, and Marco can’t help but laugh, warm gold spreading through his limbs. Ace wrinkles his nose, wiping what he can off on the covers and falling down. He bites Marco’s hip and receives a swat to the head, and Marco looks at him, smiling.

“My turn,” he says, and Ace brightens instantly. He rolls off of Marco and onto his stomach, peering over his shoulder as Marco reaches for the bag they brought from the Moby Dick.

Ace moves the pillows under his hips, moving his hand over his cock while Marco slicks a finger. He knows what Ace wants, and he spreads him open, letting lube run over him.

Excitement coils brightly around Marco as Ace’s muscles tense. He runs a finger over the puckered hole, paying no attention to the gaze fixed upon him or the almost inaudible keening sound Ace is making in his throat.

Pushing a single finger inside, Marco waits for Ace to adjust. He knows it’s be intrusive, and Marco can feel colours that aren’t his own, feel them encircle his skin and penetrate him. He feels what can only be summarised as Ace wash over him and into every pore.

Marco jerks his finger gently, running more lube over his hand and slipping a second finger inside. Ace pushes back against him, gasping at the feeling, directing his hips to show Marco where it felt best. Marco brushes his prostate and Ace shudders, hot red moving through them as quickly as lightning strikes the ground.

Three fingers slide, then four. Ace is a moaning mess now and Marco knows he won’t last long. His cock is trapped tightly against pillows and while he knows it must feel good, Marco knows his palm will feel better. He coaxes Ace onto his knees more and pulls away the pillows, granting Marco a look of disbelief in response. The look vanishes instantly with a curse when Marco jerks him off, massaging his prostate at the same time.

When he comes, Marco moves from the bed. He kisses Ace’s temple as he cleans them, wiping Ace’s face and then his stomach. The bed has a wet patch, but they can deal with that We patches aren’t the end of the world.

Ace lies on his side a little later, Marco on his back. The air is heavy, though it’s not uncomfortable. The room smells of sex, and Marco feels as though he is powerful enough to do anything in this moment.

“When I die, I don’t want anyone to take off my ring,” Ace says. His voice is dull, and Marco turns his eyes away from the cream ceiling to stare at Ace’s dark eyelashes. “I can’t stop myself from leaving you first, and I won’t blame you if you find someone else.”

Something in Marco rises fiercely, and he sits up, turning so he can look down at Ace.

“There will never be anyone else, Ace,” he says. Marco can imagine his world slipping into greys again, and he knows that will be it. Marco knows down to his very soul that Ace is the only one for him. He is the one who Marco will share his life with and no one else.

Ace is silent.

“If there was meant to be someone else, some colour would be missing,” Marco says softly, lowering himself back onto the bed so he is lying on his side. Ace takes his hand, pressing his lips to the back of it before stroking Marco’s skin gently with his thumb.

“Oyaji gives us all the colour of green. It’s the colour of peace and family.” Marco squeezes Ace’s hand, hoping he understands fully. “I can see every colour because you’re my only soulmate.”

Ace ducks his head and give a shaky sigh.

“I’m always such a burden,” he says. “I always doubt you, try and push you away and I don’t even know why. I don’t want you to be with anyone else; the thought of it makes me sick.”

Ace’s grip tightens.

“I want everyone to know,” he says firmly, and Marco feels as though fireworks have been set off inside of him. He has Ace, Ace has him, and now the world will always know.

There isn’t a perfect moment, however. They leave the island quickly under reports one of their islands is being attacked. Teams are dispatched, and the original plan to tell everyone over one of their famous parties slips away with anticipation as to what will happen.

The teams come back. The island is protected, and they’ve been rewarded with loot from the enemy ships. There are some valuables, none that match the beauty of Marco’s ring, and Marco discards the idea of helping list everything in here. He can feel the wind changing and knows tonight will be a rough one. There is a storm approaching, and he passes through the people taking account their new stock.

One box catches everyone’s attention and Marco finally sees it between securing rigging and predicting wind movements. Thatch is cradling a box, and Marco doesn’t have to look inside to know what it is. He jokes that Thatch should eat the devil’s fruit, but his words are waved off. Thatch turns to show Ace, and Marco leaves, rolling his eyes and grinning as Ace vibrates with excitement, trying to guess what fruit it could be.

Marco knows what fruit it is and so does Whitebeard. He can see Whitebeard eyeing Thatch cautiously, and he moves, ignoring the nurses as they begin taking Whitebeard’s medical supplies inside. Rain has started to fall, dark droplets coating Marco’s skin. It’s an uncomfortable feeling, the rain weighing him down as they consider what is inside of the box.

“Where’s the nearest island?” Whitebeard asks, eyes never leaving Thatch.

Marco thinks hard. “Probably a week’s sailing, provided the weather is decent.”

Whitebeard hums, though it’s not a content sound.

“I want that fruit sold as soon as we hit that island.” Whitebeard looks at Marco, and Marco knows there is something more sinister at hand. “Usually I’d want to keep such a dangerous fruit, store it if no one eats it, but I have a bad feeling.”

In the darkness of the night, someone’s life drained out of them, all colour and greys seeping over the deck with the rainwater and sea salt. Marco isn’t sure who finds Thatch, but he knows quickly of his murder. No one can find Teach and maybe that’s just as well. Marco would like to rip him from limb to limb.

Methodically, Marco is the one to cover Thatch and lead him to one of the medical rooms. The nurses sort him out while Marco stands vigil, colours muted and pointless as he watches his nakama’s corpse be prepared for burial. Ace visits him, and they sit in silence, hands gripping each other tightly.

The Moby Dick is silent for days. Marco and Ace lock themselves away when they can, the corners of their eyes wet with tears. Marco knows already what Ace has planned, and he clings to him, wanting to ask him to stay. In the night Marco wakes with a cold sweat, eyes darting around the room in a panic as he tries to find Ace, convinced that he is already lost to him. Ace is always there, though he is far from restful, and, eventually, he snaps. There is nothing Marco can do. He is powerless.

Ace’s departure is fuelled by an angry red and thick darkness. Marco calls out to him with the others, though he feels Ace’s emotion choking him. The darkness is too much for Ace to bear alone, and so he lets him slip through his fingers, waiting for news under the weight of inky black.

The Moby Dick returns to some normalcy, and they delight in sightings of Ace. Marco’s darkness doesn’t fade, but each time he sees Ace’s name printed in the paper, the colours around him seem brighter. He tucks the newspapers into his wardrobe, counting the days until Ace will return, directing them to sail closer to the Red Line. Marines know what they’re doing, and the clashes keep Marco busy. He begins to find the colour red sickening and wishes for Ace to come home.

He never does, though. Fiery rage burns through them as Whitebeard calls his army. Marco’s chest swells with pride as their nakama respond, each and every one of them fighting for Ace. Slipping into Marineford is easy, and Marco wonders whether Ace can sense him through the darkness and the hatred.

They burst out of the ocean, and Marco holds nothing back. He discards Ace’s darkness, and he fights with everything he has. He cannot let them take Ace from him and at Oyaji’s command, Marco helps Ace’s brother, though he hardly needed the order. Monkey D. Luffy is ablaze, their key, core burning white as he fights to free Ace. Marco is empowered by that.

His mistake comes when he is cuffed. His chest burns when he is shot, but Marco isn’t going to let Kizaru win. Marco is going to fight, and he’s going to win. He still has so much love to show Ace, so much time to prove that he is worth more than he thinks. Death isn’t an option, not today.

The world suddenly flares into the brightest colours Marco has ever seen. He frowns at his hands, ignoring the deep red blood that stains them and looks to where he’d seen a huge fire erupt. He smiles so widely that Marco wonders if his muscles will snap - but Ace is free. He’s free, and he’s fighting. He runs and Marco moves forward. If they can just get to Ace, if he can just pull Ace into his arms and get him to safety and-

Safety doesn’t come. Marco stops dead in his tracks, and he doesn’t need the disbelief in Luffy’s voice to understand what is happening.

Ace’s voice is so calm, and Marco’s eyes fill with tears. Ace thanks them, all of them, as he holds his brother. He apologises so gently that Marco would have brushed it off, any other day, any other time, as a stupid mistake. This is a terrible mistake.

Luffy’s scream of despair drills it home to the others, but Marco is already forgetting how to breathe through his sobs. He knows what has happened. He knows because his world has drained of colour, slowly as if someone had run grey paint over his world. Even the green Whitebeard gave him is gone, and Marco understands the small text he’d seen in a small passage, many, many years ago.

Don’t find your soulmate, the woman who had reportedly had his power before had said.

And Marco understands, oh how he understands. Every inch of him aches, and his knees buckle. The ring on his toe feels cold, as if Ace had been warming it with his very life force, and his chest burns. He hears Luffy’s screams and his nakama’s tears, and Marco continues fighting. They can’t leave Marineford like this.

The war does end, though. Shanks is dark as he steps before Akainu,and he grants Marco his help.

And so Marco stands vigil in yet another medical room. He’s seen to Whitebeard and moved to this room, leaving the rest of their family to pay their respects. Shanks is guiding their ships to the burial site, but Marco needs to be in this room.

“We’ll stay until things have settled and everyone is patched up,” Shanks says quietly. He’s standing by the door, and Marco nods from his chair by the bed. He doesn’t want to talk about the future, not tonight.

“Can you see colours?” Marco asks, leaning forward in his chair. He looks away from the bed and meets Shanks eyes. In greys he looks boring, Marco decides. Shanks looks boring and terrible, and Marco hates him. (He doesn’t really). Shanks should be red and bold and now that Marco knows what the world is supposed to look like, he hates everything.

Shanks doesn’t answer right away. He looks at the bed, at Ace, who is clean and peaceful, as if he were merely asleep.

“He was your soulmate,” Shanks says softly, and Marco closes his eyes. He wants nothing but darkness right now, though he’ll never go looking for it. He still has nakama, family who are hurting the same way he is, and he’ll protect them. Whitebeard saved them all and loved them, and Marco can keep that love flowing through their nakama. Teach is still out there too.

“We always knew he’d die before me,” Marco says. Shanks turns and he means to leave, but there is one last thing that Marco needs to say.

“He feared the darkness of our world,” he says. Shanks’ hand pauses over the door handle, and Marco smiles. “He died not knowing that darkness ever again.”

The door opens and then clicks shut, and Marco is alone. He closes his eyes. In an hour he’ll begin sorting out his nakama. Shanks can handle it for the moment, and Marco needs time.

They bury father and son beside each other, and Marco watches as rows upon rows of grey flowers line the graves. Shanks has gone above and beyond to provide for them, and Marco thanks him. Would any of them still be alive if Shanks hadn’t stepped in?

Marco turns away, heading towards their small fleet of ships. He is in charge now, and there is one last thing he can do for Ace. He’s never allied with a pirate king before, but Ace will see his brother to his dream’s completion though Marco.

He was loved, he’ll tell Luffy years later.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to lunarshores and also to everyone who has read this! I hope you enjoy the last chapter :)

For as long as he can remember, Marco has known. He’s known of a world before the one he lives in now since he could crawl, and he knows that almost no one else does. He says almost no one, for at the age of twenty eight, he hasn’t met anyone who does remember like he does (and he’s seen plenty of familiar, painful faces), but there is still hope inside of Marco.

The world has changed a lot. The modern era, they call it, with planes replacing sea trains and pirates a romantic mystery. Marco snorts at the kid programmes and the blockbuster movies that come out about pirates. They’ll never know the value of nakama or the love of the sea like he does.

Marco lives on what used to be a favoured island of the Whitebeard Pirates. It’s changed dramatically with the times, huge sprawling cities springing up where there used to be wild forests, but it’s a connected island. High speed trains ferry people to neighbouring islands in minutes, there are two airports, and Marco even owns a car to get him from A to B.

He misses the sea and his pirate life, but he is also a new person. Marco lived for years, long enough to watch the great empire Luffy brought with him when he claimed the title of pirate king rise and sustain. He spent years alone too, the sea his only companion, and while Marco will always love her, she is part of his past now.

Marco does buy an apartment looking out onto the ocean, however. Every time after he sees a face from his old life in the city streets, he’ll stand at his windows for the night, watching the waves until the sadness in his chest fades.

He has friends, even people from his past life. His side twinges when he meets with Thatch, and he always has a hard time saying goodbye when he leaves Edward’s house, but they understand Marco.

Edward has had dreams, and while he doesn’t fully understand, he does remember Marco as a child (they didn’t meet in this world until they were at university together, paired together for an assignment), and he remembers the open ocean. He listens when Marco needs to talk, and looks after him, though Marco is sure Edward doesn’t notice it. He will always be Marco’s Oyaji, and Edward never reacts when the name slips from Marco’s lips.

Thatch is a different matter. He is younger than Marco, full of energy and anger at the world. He’s a human rights activist, trying to open the eyes of the world up to the darkness lurking, and Marco sees very little of him, even when he is in town. He’s busy trying to change the world, and Marco watches proudly.

“You’re like my brother,” Thatch says one night, over dinner at a small, newly opened restaurant. Marco pauses around a mouthful of chicken, eyes locked on Thatch and his heart pounding in his chest.

“I’m an only child, but I feel like if I had a brother, he’d be you.” Thatch glances at him, laughing awkwardly. “Sorry, that’s a weird thing to say.”

Marco shakes his head, swallowing the food in his mouth. It sticks in his throat, and he has to reach shakily for his glass of water.

“No,” he manages out, smiling at Thatch. “You’re my brother.”

Nothing more needed to be said after that. They’d become brothers as easily this time around as they had before.

He still cannot see colours. That is the one thing that has remained unchanged in this world – aside from the amount of books and films on the subject of course. There are the informative books, the comedy ones that ignore free will of people and force horrified couples together for cheap laughs, and then there are the tragedies.

Marco’s never considered selling his own story, but he knows it would fetch a decent price. Media loves sadness, and Marco feels as if he’s drenched in it.

He hasn’t seen Ace. And Marco knows that Ace will be his soulmate in this lifetime too, how can he not be? He is content with a green tinge to his greys, and fear fills him at the prospect of meeting Ace once more.

Devil’s fruits are a thing of the past, and Marco seems to be ageing as any other human would be, but panic still claws at him. Marco has had to see his world fade before, he is not sure he can be strong enough to watch it again in such a short time.

So Marco scans crowds everywhere he goes, trying to search for a face he knows he will see one day. If he knows Ace is on the island, Marco can prepare himself, avoid meeting Ace’s eyes and keep the cloak of grey around his world. Ace won’t remember him, no one else does, and that is how Marco wants to keep it.

His daily routine is nothing too special. Marco gets up, runs around the city sometimes if he feels like it, has breakfast and then gets dressed for work. He mostly walks, but some days he’ll get in his car and drive to the office. He’ll greet his colleagues, head to his office and settle for the day. He’ll meet Edward for lunch (they co-created the company, after all, and while it’s small, they make a comfortable amount of money on ecological marketing campaigns), and they might make plans to meet up later, they might not. Eventually, Marco will finish at the office and go home, make dinner and go to bed.

Marco knows he’s not really living. He’s pretending, going through his life in fear that he’ll find Ace and lose him again. He pretends well, that’s for sure, but it doesn’t change the fact that it is pretending.

Sometimes, Marco doesn’t pretend. Some days he wakes and exits the house briskly, with the air of a man who knows exactly what he wants and is going to get it. He’ll go to the busiest parts of the city, sit in coffee shops and shopping cafés, looking out at the people in hopes he sees dark hair and a bright smile. He never does, and that night Marco will wonder what he was thinking.

He might not want to see Ace again, but Marco knows that, deep down, he needs to. He doesn’t quite remember what it is like to hold someone he loves or share his intimate secrets, but there is a part of him that Marco is aware is gone.

If he never had the idea of his past life in his head, Marco knows he would be fine. But he does. He remembers, and it kills him, holds him back even when Marco doesn’t want to find Ace.

There is a reason he stays in this city, and the reason comes to him when he’s at a local café, picking up a late lunch to take back to the office. He pays the cashier, grabs his sandwich and crisps, and exits the shop, just like every other visit he makes to the shop.

Marco adds the total up in his head and checks his change, frowning as he notices he’s been short-changed. He turns, rolling his eyes and looking to the shop door, but he catches the glance of a stranger instead.

No. Not a stranger. Marco’s world blooms into colour, and all thoughts of missing money fall from his mind. The stranger (Ace, his mind screams, Ace is there) has their mouth open, and Marco feels ill. He must look a state, but he rips his gaze away from the stranger’s (Ace’s) eyes and steps onto the road, darting between the cars that are waiting for the roads to clear. He can hear the beep of car horns and the stranger’s voice (Ace’s voice, and oh how it makes Marco tremble to hear him) call desperately after him.

Marco is gone though. He knows these streets well, and he doesn’t stop running until he is at home. His sandwich and crisps are ruined, crushed during his escape, and Marco knows he needs to phone Edward and explain why he vanished. He’ll pretend he became sick or something, anything, just so he doesn’t have to go outside and see Ace.

While he’s been waiting his entire life to meet Ace and avoid him, actually doing it is terrifying. Marco wants to go back and find Ace, apologise and hold his hand. He wants to take Ace around the city, watch his eyes light up in delight when he sees that Marco’s house has a view of the ocean, and he wants to show Ace how much he loves him.

A coward was something Marco never would have been in his past life. But he is not the pirate Marco anymore. He is neither immortal nor unprepared for what darkness after so many colours is like. Marco knows loneliness, and it is an inevitable fact of life once again.

He turns away from the window, leaving the sea behind. She cannot help him: Marco has to help himself.

His bed is the sensible place to make decisions, and Marco strips down to his underwear and socks, wrapping his duvet around himself and burrowing into his pillows. He’s spent so long thinking of ways to avoid Ace before the colours returned that he’d never contemplated that their eyes would meet and their worlds would come alive.

His room is pale blue, Marco can see. His covers are a pale yellow, and his furnishings a deep brown. He knew that when he bought them, carefully scouring colour-to-grey-matching guides, but seeing them properly is another thing. He isn’t sure how he feels, but he can’t deny that seeing the colours in their true form fills his chest with delight.

He loves Ace. Marco knows that already, that he’ll love whatever Ace has become in this life. He imagines that he can feel Ace now, after they connected on the street. It’s probably his imagination, but Marco feels warm inside, comforted.

The fear hasn’t gone, but now that the worst has happened, Marco feels it settle in his stomach. He doesn’t have to peer around corners or hide away now he knows Ace is here. If he ever sees Ace again, he can simply explain he’s not interested. It isn’t uncommon these days, and love isn’t impossible with someone other than the one who let you see colour.

Marco brings his knees up, closing his eyes. He’s exhausted, and he no longer wishes to see colours. He’s made his decision, and he plans to stick with it.

**.**

If you ask him, Ace will say he’s lived an ordinary life. Nothing remarkable has happened, though that’s not to say he hasn’t lived happily. He’s lived normally, and appreciated the little things in life. He loves his brothers a lot, though he tries to avoid having them round his own house, and enjoys his work. He’s an educational assistant for the local museum, though there is a transfer in the future that Ace wants to take.

The most exciting thing that Ace has probably experienced is unveiling a huge, prehistoric sea king skull to the public. He feels nostalgic whenever he walks by it to the educational department, but Ace passes it off with a shrug. Sea kings belong from a time of speculation and mystery, Ace is simply drawn to that, he thinks.

The lack of colour in his life doesn’t bother him. Luffy has always said it is overrated, proclaiming his one and only soulmate for everyone to hear to be meat. Ace and Sabo aren’t sure if he’s joking or not to this day, though Ace has a feeling Luffy is deadly serious.

It would be nice, Ace thinks sometimes, to watch the sun set over the ocean, but he loves the greys too. They fill him with certainty, remind him that he is alive to see each day, and Ace thinks he might miss them if he ever does see colour.

When his transfer goes through successfully, Ace waves his brothers goodbye and moves to a huge educational department in a large city. He feels comfortable in the city, as if he’s lived there his entire life, and Ace snaps up a decent apartment close to the museum. He is lucky, he thinks, and wonders if the city likes him, on account of how smoothly his life has run since he moved. 

Ace is so busy with integrating into his job and improving it that he hardly notices anything else. So it is, of course, a shock when he’s standing on a street, about to push past a man who can’t make his mind up on where he wants to go, that he meets the stranger’s eyes and his world pops, colours appearing instantly.

Well fuck, is Ace’s first thought. He’s in the middle of chasing up a client for loan of a rare skeleton – he doesn’t have time to sit down and talk about how the world decided they are perfect for each other. He moves to give the stranger (can he keep calling his soulmate a stranger?) his number, but pauses at the pure fear in the man’s eyes.

This soulmates thing is a bit scary, Ace recognises, but the fear is something more, something deeper.

That’s when the man runs. And it’s not in a hidden attempt to get somewhere because the man is late, oh no. Ace watches the man full on sprint away, trying to put as much distance between himself and Ace as he can.

Ace’s phone beeps, and he curses at Jinbe’s text. He is supposed to be outside the client’s house by now, and Jinbe’s wondering where he is. He really doesn’t have time to think of soulmates, and Ace sets off for the house.

It is nice to see the world in colour, he thinks. He questions the client on the skeleton, noticing a few patches on the bones that look damaged – from lack of proper care. The client offers his apologies, and Ace knows Jinbe’s looking at him in curiosity, wondering how he knows the colours are brown and not a variant of grey.

They talk about it over take away cartons at Ace’s flat that night.

“Oh, well I think I met my soulmate,” Ace says casually. Food falls from Jinbe’s fork as he stares at Ace for a moment.

“You think?” he questions, and Ace shrugs his shoulders. Now he hasn’t got a client to run to, he feels uncomfortable about how it all happened.

“Well… he ran away.” Ace looks down at his food, ignoring Jinbe’s incredulous stare. “And I had to get to the client.”

Silence fills the room and Ace risks looking at his colleague. He can’t hold back the laugh when he sees the odd look on Jinbe’s face, and Ace sets his food down, shaking his head with a smile.

“Come on,” Ace says, “it’s not that bad.”

He picks his food up, and continues trying to explain.

“It’s just… I’ve never felt as if this whole soulmates thing is important. I don’t need some stranger in my life just because they helped me see some colours, you know?” Ace chews thoughtfully, hoping Jinbe isn’t one of those really strict soulmate people, the ones who think life is just about finding your soulmate and nothing else. Ace hates those people.

“Plus, I don’t need some stranger to love me.” Ace smiles. “I’m already loved enough.”

Jinbe doesn’t say anything more, and he agrees with Ace. Soulmates are a nice concept when looked at from afar, but there are so many things that just don’t work. There is no set model for a perfect connection, and Ace favours the scientists trying to prove that colour appearing isn’t to do with love or even a magical, romantic connection. Some people just share a connection, even if that connection is merely two strangers meeting on the street.

Ace tucks himself into bed happily that night. He never really wanted a life with colours, but now he has them, it’s not so bad. His lamp is still on, and the room is lit up in a warm, comforting glow. It is nice to see the colours, Ace decides.

He falls asleep quickly, and wakes a few hours later, unsure why. A dream is on the edge of his waking, and Ace feels the need to sit up, cling onto it tightly and focus on the dream.

What he can remember, he mulls over after he’s turned the light on. Ace is shocked when he sees the room light up in colours other than grey, and it takes him a moment to remember why he can suddenly see this world.

Which leads him, in turn, to the dream. He is sure that the stranger he met was in the dream, and that they were in the middle of the ocean. Ace remembers feeling content, standing at the railings of a huge ship.

He isn’t sure how the dream ended, but Ace woke up with a burning feeling in his chest. His skin tingles and he slide out of bed, turning lights on as he moves to the bathroom. He is uncomfortable, and stands before the mirror, staring at his reflection.

Something tells him that the dream wasn’t entirely just a dream. He doesn’t know what it was, but something niggles at him, and Ace moves from the bathroom to grab his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he finds the number he wants.

“Sorry to bother you so late,” he says, when the phone picks up. Ace calms the initial questions of whether he’s okay or not, and moves to sit on his bed, gazing at his red bed sheets.

“What was the story you told us as kids?” he asks, and there is a pause on the other end of the line.

“You want me to tell you a bedtime story?” Ace’s father asks, and Ace doesn’t have an answer.

“Alright then,” his father says, his rough laugh soothing Ace. He falls back on the bed, putting the phone on speaker as he tucks himself in.

“There once was a man who achieved everything one could in the world.” Ace nodded, closing his eyes to imagine the story. “He was a pirate, the king of pirates in fact, but everything has its day. The pirate king was ill, dying in fact, and had little time left.”

Ace puts a face to the pirate king behind his eyelids, imagining him standing atop a huge ship on a vast ocean.

“Who was his enemy?” Ace asked, needing to hear something other than how the king had died. “Not the government, but his other enemy.”

There is silence for a moment, then his father hums to himself.

“You never want to know stuff like this,” he says, and Ace curls his knees up to his chest, moving his phone next to his ear and turning the volume down a little.

“I know,” Ace says, closing his eyes again. “I just want to check something.”

His father launches into a gallant tale of two pirate crews, constantly warring against each other, yet friends. He laughed about it fondly, and Ace is reminded of why he wanted to call his father.

“Do you believe in past lives?” he asks, and his father grows quiet.

“What makes you ask that?” he says, and Ace imagines him tilting his head, wide grin on his face. “My storytelling skills are amazing, but-“

“I had a dream, and it woke me up.” Ace opens his eyes, looking at his fingers curled over the bottom of his phone. “I was a pirate, I think. I was on a ship, on the open sea, and I was happy.”

His father doesn’t say anything, unlike most people. He doesn’t make a joke asking if Ace is unhappy now and doesn’t roll his eyes and pass it off as just a random dream. That is why Ace called his father, because he knew he’d understand.

“It didn’t feel like a dream,” Ace says quietly.

“Do you believe in past lives?” his father asks, and Ace frowns.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly, toes wriggling as he thinks. “Maybe?”

“Sometimes I think I was the pirate king I tell stories about,” his father admits, voice secretive and only for Ace’s ears. “The stories I’ve always told, they feel as if they’re more than just stories.”

Roger pauses, and Ace waits.

“They feel like memories,” he says eventually, and Ace swallows thickly.

“You think I was a pirate in a past life?” Ace says, and he knows his tone is disbelieving. He cannot help it, the notion that he’s already lived once and forgotten seems ridiculous.

“Perhaps,” his father replies, “if you believe in that sort of thing.”

Ace thinks about the dream, thinks about how the wind had felt in his hair and the smell of the ocean had seemed so real. He doesn’t think it could have been a dream, but why would such a memory only surface now?

“There was someone with me in the dream,” Ace ventures. He has an idea, to see if his father’s story is a memory or just something he feels passionate about. “He was blond, tall, had an almost completely shaved head.”

Ace doesn’t add that this man was the very one who had helped him see colour. Soulmates aren’t important at the moment, not when his father’s on the phone.

“The Phoenix,” Roger replies instantly. “I don’t know his name.”

Ace sighs lightly.

“Thanks, Dad,” he says, wishing Roger a goodnight. He works a night shift, so Ace doesn’t feel bad for waking him up or anything, though he bets he’ll get a call from his mother in the day telling him off for not talking to her.

His conversation hasn’t relaxed Ace in the slightest. In fact, it’s made him a little more uncomfortable and presents him with now a new, strange idea. Maybe that is why the man – the Phoenix apparently (and is that a gang name or something?) – had taken off running, confronted by a man who had only appeared in his dreams.

Ace snorts and rolls over to turn his lamp off. He’ll find the stranger and set this ridiculous notion to rest.

He needs to find him first, though, and Ace has a favour to call in at the museum.

**.**

It’s the weekend, and Marco realises he has barely anything in his cupboards. He sighs, grabs his reusable bags and starts up the car, heading for the largest supermarket in his area. It’s nice to get out for the first time in a few days, out of his self-imposed exile, and he takes to the aisles, filling his trolley quickly and efficiently.

He sees it when he’s almost out of the door. At the side of the exit, there is a board for local adverts, and bold letter call for the phoenix. Marco pauses, considers, and moves to look at the smaller text.

He isn’t sure how Ace knew that name, but the poster is undoubtedly seeking him. He wonders where else the information has been posted, and wonders if Thatch will be emailing him soon, linking him to the post. It wouldn’t surprise Marco.

Casting a glance around, and ignoring the tremble in his bones, Marco takes the poster from the board, tucking it into his pocket as he pushes his trolley to his car. He manages not to think about it too much until his shopping is put away and he is drinking a cup of coffee, at his kitchen table. The poster is laid out before him, and Marco sighs.

It asks, in short, for Marco to call him and arrange to meet up. Part of Marco hopes that this is Ace’s way of telling him he remembers, and that he wants to be with him again, but that would be too convenient. Still, Marco can’t help but hope, and that hope is what forces him to pick up the phone and dial the number on the poster.

“Hello, Ace speaking,” he says, and Marco feels his world fall from under his feet. His hand clutches his phone and he draws in a shaky breath. Nothing could have prepared him for hearing Ace’s voice once more, and his entire world seems to brighten.

“Hello?” Ace says again, and Marco makes a swift apology.

“Sorry, I saw your poster,” he says, “I, er, ran off the other day when we met.”

There is a pause, and then a sound of recognition.

“So you’re ‘the Phoenix’?” Ace asks, and Marco can see him now, rolling his eyes at the name and giving a small smile. “I’m Ace.”

I know, Marco thinks, but he’d sound crazy if he says that. He wants to see if Ace does remember, and perhaps if he does…

“Marco,” Marco says, and Ace is silent for a moment.

“I know we’re going about this whole thing a little oddly,” Ace says, “but do you want to meet for a drink or something? I want to ask you a few questions.”

Marco’s heart speeds up, and he thinks that maybe, just maybe Ace knows.

It’s clear, however, that Ace doesn’t know when they do meet up. They’ve arranged to meet in a casual bar, and Marco makes sure he is smart, but not too smart. He’s spent the past week cleaning every inch of his apartment (and office, before Edward told him to stop), trying not to think about Ace, but how can he forget? Ace is in every colour Marco sees, and while he is scared of losing Ace, his heart leaps in joy every morning.

Ace is alive. Ace is free. Ace is here.

Marco gets to the bar first, sits at a table near the entrance, and waits, nervously. He isn’t sure entirely what to expect, and so when Ace does enter the bar, Marco looks at him with wide eyes.

He hasn’t changed, Marco thinks. Well, he has, but he is still the same Ace that Marco held in his arms. He is older, and that warms Marco’s belly as he stands to greet Ace, and the world doesn’t press so harshly against him.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says instantly, shaking his head as he sits down. Marco tries not to stare, looking down at his drink instead. “They wanted an opinion on something where I worked and obviously had to wait until I was about to leave.”

Ace laughs, and Marco bites the inside of his cheek.

“Where do you work?” he asks instead, and Ace stands. He runs to get a drink, and Marco waits, trying not to follow Ace with his eyes. It’s clear they’re not here to embark on some expected romance, but if Marco has any hopes they could become more, he needs not to freak Ace out. Especially considering he might not know of their past life together.

“The museum,” Ace says when he returns, setting his drink down and settling in his seat. “I’m on the education team and transferred pretty recently.”

“How are you finding it?” Marco asks, wanting to know as much as he can in this small encounter.

They are comfortable, Marco realises, as Ace takes a sip of his drink and relaxes into his chair. His smile is easy as he launches into an account of his day, and Marco watches him while he listens. He hasn’t realised how much he missed the small things about Ace until this moment, and Marco is struggling to think of a proper reason why he is scared of a life of grey.

If his life returns to grey, he will at least have had Ace and shared his love for a small portion of time. Marco realises that he had forgotten how love felt, and he feels ashamed of running away now.

There is something important he needs to know, and he brings it up when they are mid-way through their second drink.

“Why did you put ‘Phoenix’ on the poster?” he says, and Ace looks at him before ducking his head, fingers playing with his glass.

“It’s… an odd story,” Ace says, and Marco makes it clear he has all the time in the world.

“After I met you, I had a weird dream.” Ace speaks quickly, as if he’s afraid Marco will leave before his story’s over. As if Marco is going to leave.

“I phoned my dad – he used to tell us weird stories as a kid, and I just knew he’d be able to help.” Ace’s fingers slide from his glass, and Marco feels his nerves spike. His gut sinks, and he knows Ace doesn’t remember him.

“He said something… something about past lives.” Ace’s voice is uncomfortable, and Marco sits back in his seat, one hand falling to his leg. His fingers pressed into his jeans, and Marco hopes Ace won’t sneer at the thought of reincarnation.

Marco spent most of his childhood trying to understand the world he’d left behind, and he isn’t sure he can take Ace’s rejection.

“I described you to him, and phoenix was all that he could remember.” Ace’s finger slides down the condensation on his glass, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“I wanted to test it out, to see if putting that on a poster would work.” Ace glances at Marco, and there is a tingle of hope that passes through his body. “You showed up, didn’t you?”

It isn’t an acceptance of their past life, but it’s not a rejection either. Marco knows he will have to do a lot of work to open Ace’s eyes to the life they shared, but he is prepared to do so. He doesn’t need a romantic relationship with Ace. Just being his friend will be enough if it comes down to it.

“If you were to believe in past lives,” Marco begins, voice low. He leans forward, resting his wrists on the wooden table between them. “If you believed in them, then you would have known me as Marco the Phoenix.”

Ace’s eyes widen. He remains silent, but his mind is whirring in thought, Marco knows. Ace is a thinker – a deep thinker. He’ll take their conversation with him tonight and dissect it until he has collected every useful piece from it. Marco only hopes that he takes the good, and doesn’t reject the idea of past lives. Not that Marco would blame him. It’s not an easy thing to stomach.

Marco has known Ace better than anyone, and he downs the remainder of his drink, standing and collecting his coat from the back of his chair.

“If you have any more questions, please call,” he says.

It is hard to leave Ace, but Marco knows it’s the only way. Ace doesn’t remember their freedom on the open seas, and Marco will not force him. Ace is happy in this life, and Marco can live with the ache in his chest.

Marco shivers as he walks into the cold. He can feel the seasons turning, and his breath mists the air as he sighs.

He still misses Ace.

**. ******

Marco isn’t exactly what Ace expected him to be. The Marco he talks to is a nice man, has a passion for the environment and seems as normal as anyone. He doesn’t seem like a weird guy who believes in conspiracies, past lives and that sort. Ace even likes him, really likes him actually, and thinks that perhaps this whole soulmate thing might be on the right track.

Ace has to know, however, and Marco’s reply churns his stomach. He barely registers Marco leaving, and his fingertips press tightly against his glass. Ace isn’t sure how long he sits there for, but when he comes to himself, he abandons his drink and leaves, frowning with the cold air outside hits him.

He really doesn’t believe in past lives, Ace decides when he stops at a crossing. The sign is green for pedestrians, and Ace watches it turn to red, fascinated by the colours. He’s only ever seen a still figure and a walking one, to see their true colours is something remarkable.

Past lives belong on ridiculous TV shows and fantasy stories, Ace decides when he finally crosses the road. The human brain can’t cope with two lives, Ace is sure, and he wonders if his father and Marco suffer from some mental condition.

Ace settles in bed that night uncomfortably. His skin is too warm, and he feels trapped. He leaves his door open and cranks the window open, but that hardly makes any difference. When he does finally sleep, he dreams.

In the morning, he can remember three distinct, separate dreams.

In the first, Ace is sitting in a pagoda. Marco is there, but he has the ears of a rabbit and paws to match. They are sitting quietly, listening to a giant, human-sized ant speak of its woes. It’s worried there won’t be enough sake for their fishing trip.

Ace is pretty sure it’s just a strange dream. He’s had odd dreams before, as everyone has, and he feels humour when he recalls the dream’s events. He wonders if they made their fishing trip.

It’s the two other dreams that fill Ace with something else.

The second dream starts with Ace onboard the pirate ship from before. He can see the jolly roger, and a huge man sitting in the sun, laughing with another group of people. Marco is in this one too, though he is far away from Ace, busy checking some papers someone is holding out to him.

In the dream, Ace feels content. Desperation curls on the edge of his mind, though Ace can’t think why his other-self feels that way, and the world dims, brightening around Marco.

And then Marco notices him. He smiles, a smile Ace knows is for him alone, and all Ace can feel is happiness. He feels warm, loved, and when he looks back on the dream, a smile springs to his lips.

The final dream is what pushes Ace out of bed at 5am. He shudders when he thinks of it, and moves to sit on his sofa, turning to a mindless channel on TV for some background noise as he tries to process.

He doesn’t remember much of the dream, except that it was very dark. Ace feels angry when he remembers it, though he isn’t sure why. There was also fire in the dream, a lot of fire, and it had been the burning of the fire that had woken him.

Ace moves to his phone, selecting his recent contacts. He skips the first couple; his brothers would be useless right now. He hovers over his dad’s number, and eventually decides against it. There’s someone else, someone better, who Ace can talk to.

“Hello, Marco Falls speaking,” comes the voice, and Ace pauses in surprise. He hadn’t expected Marco to be awake, let alone in full business mode.

“Hi,” Ace says, “it’s Ace.”

There is the sound of something metal clattering on a table (Ace suspects Marco has dropped his cutlery), and Marco lets out a curse.

“Sorry,” Ace says, voice light as he smiles. He wonders how much of a mess Marco has made, and leans back against the sofa, stretching his legs out. The memory of the third dream is lessening, and Ace is reminded of the one where Marco was his all.

Ace pauses, looking at the TV. An advertisement is on, and Ace has seen it hundreds of times. It’s different, this time, and he watches closely as colours blaze on his screen. He loves colour.

“Ace?” Marco’s voice says, and Ace snaps his eyes from the TV, returning to his conversation.

“I have a question, maybe a few,” he says, and Marco hums in encouragement. He takes a loud sip of his drink, and Ace knows he must still be at home.

“I’m not bothering you, am I?” he asks, and Marco lets him know he isn’t.

“I don’t have to leave for another half an hour or so,” Marco says. “I’m all ears.”

Ace knew Marco would say that. He knew that, whatever time of day he would call, Marco would respond as soon as he could. He knows that from the dream and the one meeting they’ve shared, and it scares Ace a little. How can he know so much about a person without actually knowing them?

“If I had a past life, I must have died, right?” Marco is silent, and Ace curls his toes into the fabric of the sofa, frowning to himself. He doesn’t want to think about his death, and he doesn’t want to run Marco’s day, but he has to know.

“Yes,” Marco says, his voice shaky. Ace winces.

“How?” he ventures, and he wonders if Marco has set the phone down, on account of his quiet he is.

“Do we have to do this over the phone?” Marco says, and he sounds as if he’s close to breaking. Ace nods his head though.

“It’s the only way I can do it.” Ace hears a sigh on the other end. He knows he is pushing Marco, but there is no way he can hear this answer in person. He’s finding it hard to keep the phone in his hand, though he knows it’s just as hard for Marco.

That thought is what keeps him listening.

“You were killed,” Marco says, the words gushing out. The words are clipped, and while they fall easily, Ace knows Marco could stop at any moment and never speak of it again, unable to.

“In that life, we had special powers. I had the power of a phoenix, you had the power of fire,” Ace’s eyes widen, “and the man who killed you had the power of magma.”

Ace thinks on his dream, on the bubbling, melting, burning, scorching sensation over his chest.

“He burnt right through me, didn’t he,” Ace says, and it isn’t a question.

Marco is silent, and Ace hears the TV roar in his free ear, waiting desperately for Marco to answer. The colours before him seem to fade and bold, his connection to Marco wavering, Ace assumes.

“Yes,” he says, eventually, voice hollow. “I’m late for work.”

Ace understands why Marco hangs up, and he waits until the call is fully disconnected before he pulls his phone away from his ear, letting it fall onto the floor.

He doesn’t know what to think. Ace isn’t sure whether he’s going insane, or whether this past life thing is actually real. He doesn’t feel like he’s any different than he was one month ago, but he knows so much more. Thinks he knows so much more.

Ace lets out a noise of frustration and springs up off of the sofa. He has work in under an hour and he rushes to get ready, making it to his department on time – just. Jinbe raises an eyebrow at his tardiness, and Ace shakes his head, wishing he’d picked up a coffee and some food on the way in.

When he’s supposed to be drafting up next month’s education newsletter, Ace researches past lives on the internet. He gets a lot of useless sites, and ignores the annoying adverts that keep popping up (Ace is really beginning to find the colour red annoying), but finds one or two that are reputable.

There is one, just one, that Ace identifies with. There are many entries on one site, and one of them talks of dreams after meeting their soulmate. The person’s past life is very different to Ace’s, but it still resonates in him, and Jinbe finds him staring at his screen just before lunch.

“You’ve been asked for upstairs,” he says, and Ace shakes his head, eyes wide. He has no tours or meetings scheduled for today, there shouldn’t be a reason for him to go out onto the museum floor.

“They say it’s a personal reason,” Jinbe elaborates, and Ace stands up with a sigh, exiting his browser and rolling his eyes.

“This better not be their idea of a joke,” he says and leaves with promises to pick them both some lunch up on the way back.

Ace really doesn’t know who to expect, and so it’s a shock when he sees who is standing at the desk. The receptionist nods and turns back to their work, leaving Marco to take a few steps towards him.

He looks nice, Ace things. He is in a shirt and jeans, comfortable yet smart. Ace can’t help but think it looks odd on him though, though he isn’t sure why he’s used to a Marco with no clothes. His past life is leaking in, the article had said it had happened for the writer, but it doesn’t scare Ace.

“I’m not interrupting am I? I would have called, but…” Marco looks away, suddenly becoming interested in maps of the museum.

“Do you want to go to the aquarium? It’s pretty quiet in the week when there aren’t kids around.” Ace smiles, and leads off to the left side of the museum. Their aquarium is quite small, but it’s beautiful, and Ace loves going there when he can. He has a feeling Marco will love it too.

“How’s work?” Ace asks on their way, walking side by side with Marco. He is tempted to brush his fingers against the back of Marco’s hand, but he doesn’t. Even if Ace is remembering things, they still don’t know each other as they are now.

“I was told to go home,” Marco says, voice tight. “Edward’s put me on a sick day.”

Ace feels guilt claw at his stomach, as no doubt Marco’s lack of performance was his own fault. He then considers the name Marco said, and frowns.

“Edward?” he says, looking at Marco. He feels unsure about what he’s about to say, but he can’t let it die in his throat. “He was our captain.”

Marco’s eyes meet his, and they are surprised. He looks away a moment later, nodding his head sharply.

“He’s my age now though,” Marco says, and Ace pictures an old man. He is the same who was sat in a chair on deck in his dream – his memory – and he can’t help but smile at the thought that Marco and their Oyaji are the same age.

“So you’re about 70 then,” Ace jokes, and laughter flows from him as Marco bumps his shoulder.

It feels natural, normal.

Past lives or not, Ace wants to be in Marco’s life.

They enter the aquarium, and Ace lets Marco drift, following him around the tanks. They pause at the moon jellyfish, circling their tank and filling the dark waters with an eerie glow.

“I didn’t mean to upset you this morning,” Ace says, letting his eyes fall from the jellies to watch Marco’s profile. His features are soft, and he looks younger than the man of Ace’s memory. “I needed to know.”

“It’s okay,” Marco says gently. “It’s just hard to remember. We all thought you were going to survive.”

Ace looks down. He wanders over to their main tank and smiles as their resident sea turtle passes by, looking down at him curiously.

“I don’t know if I believe in it all,” Ace says when Marco comes to join him. The turtle turns her head to inspect Marco, opening her beak. “But I have these… memories I guess, that keep appearing. It’s like they’ve always been there, and they don’t scare me.”

Marco presses a finger against the tank side, and the turtle swims past a few times, inspecting his finger.

“I won’t understand everything, and it might be too hard for you, but I really like you.” Ace feels his cheeks heat up, and he takes a deep breath, smiling at Marco.

He meets Marco’s gaze and feels his flush deepen, unused to the intensity in Marco’s stare. 

“Would you like to have dinner at mine tonight?” Marco says, and his smile melts Ace’s knees. Ace can feel the colours of his world shift, lightening softly.

“I’d love that,” he says, and he gets Marco’s address.

He heads back to his department without lunch and heads out with Jinbe minutes after.

“So he was your soulmate?” Jinbe asks as they queue to pay for their sandwiches. Ace nods.

“And you decided to give him a chance?” Jinbe shakes his head, smiling. “How the hell did you even find each other again?”

Ace tilts his chin, shuffling forward as the queue moves slightly.

“We’re soulmates, you just can’t tear us apart,” Ace jokes, and he rolls his eyes a moment later. Still, there is truth to his words, but he won’t let Jinbe know that.

“Nah, I put up posters looking for him. It’s what I called in that favour for from marketing.” Jinbe makes a sound of realisation and moves to pay for his food.

“I’m going to his for dinner tonight,” Ace admits when they’re outside, heading back to work.

“Better hope he’s not a murderer,” Jinbe quips, and Ace stares at him, expression deadpan.

“Yes, because he misses the greys so much he wants to kill me.” Ace unwraps his sandwich, eating on the go. He wants to leave early tonight, and so needs to do as much work as he can. “I know him, he’d rather kill himself than me.”

The words ring true, and a shiver runs down Ace’s spine. He hasn’t thought about the time Marco must have spent alone after his death, and it fills him with sadness. He needs to atone for that, and Ace is prepared to show Marco that he is loved, so, so much.

Work passes in a blur, aside from Jinbe’s comments on how his soulmate (boyfriend? can Ace call him his boyfriend?) is going to chop him up and have him for dinner. He does make Ace promise to text him tomorrow, and Ace promises he will. It’s Friday, and he’d probably have texted Jinbe at some point over the weekend.

It’s dark outside when Ace reaches Marco’s apartment. He rings the buzzer and is let in, bottle of wine tucked under his arm. He is nervous, but excited too, and can’t help his smile while he waits outside Marco’s door.

Everything seems to soften and gain a golden tinge as the door opens. Marco welcomes him in, stepping aside carefully. Ace wonders if Marco’s afraid to touch him, but he won’t press the issue.

Marco is just finishing up dinner, and they eat at a candlelit table. Their conversation sticks to this world, and Ace learns that Marco isn’t that different from whom he was before at all. He’s sure he isn’t that different either.

Despite surface differences, Marco is still _his_ Marco.

“How long did you live?” Ace says, when Marco is piling their plates up. He pauses, hands still, and clears his throat. He hadn’t expected the change of topic, Ace knows, but it is something they need to talk about. He needs to know what happened to Marco after he died.

“I stopped counting after a while.” Marco sets the plates down, hands linking together and resting on the table. “Your brother became the Pirate King, though.”

Ace smiles, memories of Luffy’s promise echoing in his mind. He isn’t surprised, though he feels sad that he missed it. He is glad Marco was there. Luffy would have liked Marco. Ace resolves to get them to meet in this lifetime soon.

“Of course he did,” he says. He grows serious, needing Marco to hear the next words. They cling to his chest, sticking in his throat, and Ace’s voice is thick when he does finally get them out. “I’m sorry it took me so long to find you again.”

Silence fills the room for a moment, and it breaks with an odd sound. It takes a moment for Ace to realise, but his words set Marco crying, shaking his head when Ace stands in worry. He laughs, looking at Ace for a moment.

“I’m fine,” Marco says, covering his eyes with his hands, sniffing heavily. “I just missed you.”

Ace’s emotions break over him like sea over sand, and he moves around the table swiftly, throwing himself at Marco. He slides onto his lap, legs straddling Marco as he lets him bury his head against his shoulder, sobs wracking his shoulders. Ace wraps his arms around Marco and feels tears springing to his own eyes. They haven’t seen each other for so long, and Ace may not know everything from before, but he does know he left Marco for so many years. Ace knows what the greys are like, and he isn’t sure he’ll be able to cope having his colour ripped from him how Marco had his.

Colour is so much more than just filling in the blanks of the world. It’s Ace’s reminder that he has someone to love, someone who will love him in return. Some who he has shared a life with before, and someone who he plans to spend this life with. Colours, for Ace, aren’t about making the world look beautiful but are about his bond with Marco. He doesn’t care if a book is beige or the door is blue. He cares that the colours are there, and that the world brightens whenever he is near Marco.

He feels at peace as Marco holds him. His tears dry, but Ace doesn’t move. He closes his eyes and lets Marco’s scent wash over him. He is crisp like the ocean breeze, and Ace’s entire body tingles. He wants more, wants to feel their bond burn under his skin, and knows that Marco won’t object.

“I missed you too,” Ace says, sliding his hands up to wipe Marco’s cheeks of tears. Marco smiles back, and Ace dips down, kissing Marco’s cheeks gently. He kisses the tear tracks away and can feel Marco smiling as he moves lower, pressing their lips together softly.

“Can I stay the night?” Ace asks, and Marco’s hands move lower, slipping into the back of Ace’s trousers, fingers curling against his skin. It’s almost possessive, and Ace likes it. They’ve been apart for too long, and Ace wants the world to know they have each other. He wants the world to see proof that he can see the world in striking colour, and Ace knows how he can achieve that.

“Yes,” Marco gasps as Ace kisses down his jaw, moving down his throat and scraping his teeth against the skin. He bites gently, and he can feel Marco shudder under his kiss. He isn’t done though, and he plans to leave marks on Marco’s skin.

“I don’t want to smash your plates,” Ace whispers, and he feels Marco’s hands leave his skin. It is his subtle way of saying they should move somewhere more comfortable, and Marco understands.

The lack of contact doesn’t last long, for Marco pulls him towards the bedroom, turning on a lamp. They both strip down, wanting to feel every inch of each other’s warmth against their own skin, and Ace pauses, eyes fixed on Marco’s chest.

“You still have it,” he says, running his fingers over the blue mark of the Whitebeard Pirates. It makes Ace’s back seem suddenly cold, and he knows he won’t feel entirely happy unless he marks himself proudly too.

“I didn’t feel myself without it,” Marco says, pushing Ace back on the bed. He rubs against Ace, and Ace shudders. He’s missed how well he fits against Marco, and how Marco knows him so well. He’s missed Marco’s teasing grin, and warming touches. He’s missed Marco’s voice, his smile, his smell, and he hasn’t even realised he’s been missing it until a few weeks ago.

It’s strange how he’s forgotten an entire lifetime until now, and Ace wonders how he ever managed it.

They shift until Ace is back in Marco’s lap, Marco’s back against the headboard. Ace lets his hands slid over Marco’s shoulders, grinding against his belly. He feels comforted, as if he’s been dying to do this for a long, long time. They may only have known each other a couple of weeks in this world, but their connection spans eons.

They waste no time, and Ace loops his arms around Marco’s shoulders, kissing him slowly as he feels a slick finger press into him.

“When did you get the lube?” Ace asks, wrinkling his nose a little at the sensation. It’s uncomfortable, and the room darkens for a moment, colours adjusting to Ace’s discomfort.

“When I turned the lamp on,” Marco replies, kissing Ace’s arm gently. “Relax.”

Ace does, pressing his lips against Marco’s shoulder as he rocks his hips down. He shudders, teeth dragging across Marco’s shoulder, and he places a hand on Marco’s stomach, balancing himself. He’s waited so long for this, to be reunited with Marco, and he almost cannot believe they are there, together.

“Slowly,” Ace whispers. Marco is reaching to his side, and Ace watches him unroll a condom. “Go slowly.”

Marco obliges, entering Ace slowly. Ace closes his eyes, rolling his head back as he sinks down. Golden flecks dance behind his eyelids, and when Ace opens them, Marco looks ethereal, skin almost glowing. It makes Ace miss their flames, and he lets his arms fall from Marco’s back, smoothing over warm skin as he moves upwards, hands curling over the crook of Marco’s elbows.

Marco’s hands are curled around Ace’s waist, and he guides him gently. He keeps his legs still, and Ace has full control, rising and falling like gentle waves. He can see the sheen of sweat on Marco’s brow, and Ace rolls his hips, pulling up slightly.

He grins as Marco’s breath hitches, and he moves again, warmth curling in his belly. He feels it spread through him, from himself and into Marco, and Ace tingles with the feeling.

Ace dips his head, kissing Marco’s jugular as he arches a little. A hand wraps around Ace’s cock, and he bites Marco a little harder than he’d intended. He pulls back in worry, but Marco is already watching him, pupils blown wide, pleasure oozing from every pore. Ace can feel it in the sultry colours that surround them, and he lowers his teeth again, grazing at Marco’s skin as he rolls his hips.

Marco moves steadily, and Ace can feel himself losing his control. Golden sparks begin to fill his vision, and he lets out a moan, gasping as Marco’s hand jerks. He lets his tongue lap at Marco’s collar, moving across the bone until he reaches his shoulder. He bites down hard, as he comes, and Marco shudders when Ace’s tongue runs over the indents in his skin. Ace didn’t break the skin, but he leaves it flushed, a sign that he has Marco, and Marco has him.

They stay wrapped together for a while, cooling off. Ace doesn’t want sleep, even when he moves off to clean them up, and Marco makes it clear he doesn’t want to sleep either.

“You’ll have to meet Thatch,” Marco says, turning off the lamp as Ace settles beside him in bed. “And Edward.”

Ace grins. Marco kisses his cheek gently, before resting his head on Ace’s chest, lying on his stomach.

“You have to meet my family then.” He smiles at the image of Marco meeting his father, and thinks they’ll hit it off. “I think my dad remembers, but I’m not sure about anyone else.”

Marco hums, Ace’s chest vibrating with the sound.

“I’d like that,” he says, and Ace can see the mischief in his eyes as he moves up to press their lips together, tongue sliding against Ace’s. Ace wraps his legs around Marco, trapping him close and breathing in deeply, letting his colours fade in the darkness as Marco holds him.

Ace wakes first the following morning. He is confused at first, but then he sees Marco before him, and he smiles. His grin widens at the mark on Marco’s shoulder. Marco will be annoyed by it later, and Ace will be smug, knowing that part of him is kept on Marco’s skin.

He turns, shuffling back into Marco’s hold and wrapping one of Marco’s arms over his waist. From where they are, Ace can see the ocean from Marco’s bed (their bed, because Marco has the nicer apartment, and Ace would do anything to see the sea every morning like this), and he watches the waves.

From this distance, the sea looks endless and blue. Ace feels at peace, and he closes his eyes with a smile as Marco kisses the back of his shoulder.

“Morning,” he says, still sleepy.

“Let’s go back to sleep,” Ace whispers, almost a dare. He feels Marco’s arm tighten around him, and he joins their hands, fingers intertwining.

“Best idea you’ve had today,” Marco says, and Ace kicks his ankle.

Later, over breakfast, Ace will tell Marco that he had a dream, different from any he’d had before. In it, they are wrinkled and their hair is snow white, and they are happy, together with a dog. He’ll tell Marco that he loves him too, and that he’ll always find him, no matter how many times they’re pulled apart and how many worlds they have to go through.

For now, Ace lets himself relax. He turns in Marco’s hold and stretches his legs out, looking at Marco through narrowed eyes. He doesn’t want to wake, and it’s clear Marco doesn’t either.

“What are you looking at?” Marco says, opening one eye. He smiles and tucks his leg between Ace’s. The colours in the room fade away, until Marco is brighter than any of them. His skin is warm, his eyes bright, and Ace shuffles forward to kiss him.

“Nothing,” Ace replies, entire body tingling.

It isn’t that his life lacked Marco before, but having him here now, Ace cannot imagine ever letting him go. He sighs happily, closing his eyes with a smile. He isn’t sure he wants to remember everything from his past life, but if he does, then he has someone to talk to, someone who knows more sadness than Ace can ever imagine.

“Remind me I need to text Jinbe and tell him you didn’t murder me,” Ace mutters, turning his head into the pillow. He feels Marco jolt in surprise and grins to himself.

“He thought you were going to chop me up and eat me,” Ace elaborates, and Marco rolls onto his back, rubbing his eyes. His leg slides free of Ace’s, and as soon as he’s gone, Ace misses the contact.

“He’s working today, actually,” Ace says, abandoning his pillow to rest his head against Marco’s shoulder. There’s a lot of bed behind him, but Ace isn’t interested in stretching out. All he wants is Marco.

“Do you want to go on a museum date then?” Marco asks, wrapping his arm around Ace. He tucks the covers around them, and Ace nods.

“We have a pirate section,” Ace whispers, resting his hand on Marco’s belly, fingers dancing over his rib bones. “We can laugh at the inaccuracies together.”

Marco flinches as Ace’s fingers tickle him, and Ace grins. He still has the same ticklish spots, at the base of his ribs.

“Stop it,” Marco says, and Ace relents.

They fall into silence, and Ace lets himself drift into a doze. He can feel Marco’s chest rising and falling, and he fades away, the room shifting, changing, until Ace knows they are far from where they are now. 

Ace can feel the ocean under him, the Moby Dick swaying on the waves. Marco is asleep, much like he is in their current world, and Ace lets the ocean lull him to comforting darkness.

Whether he is in an ancient world of pirates and odd powers, or in a world where they are free, Ace knows he’ll be happy. He has Marco, and he is loved so very much.


End file.
